


What Are Words For?

by salixbabylon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-04
Updated: 2007-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salixbabylon/pseuds/salixbabylon
Summary: "Six months after the end of the war Harry decided, admittedly in a fit of pique, that he wasn't going to talk any more."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Surprisingly mostly canon compliant, even with DH. Only I didn't kill Fred because that's just wrong. Also warning = plot! Not my usual PWP-fare. Tons of thanks to my beloved beta, [](http://sarka.livejournal.com/profile)[sarka](http://sarka.livejournal.com/) *smooch*

Six months after the end of the war Harry decided, admittedly in a fit of pique, that he wasn't going to talk any more. No one ever listened to what he said and he was sick of it. Sick of trying to be a hero, sick of everyone putting him on a pedestal, and utterly sick to death of the Ministry and the _Prophet_ and all the rest of the Wizarding Press twisting his words around so that it didn't matter a whit what he actually said. They only heard what they wanted to hear.

He had gone to enough of the public events - enough parties had been drunk at, enough medals had been received, and enough speeches had been given - and Harry decided he was just bloody well finished with it all. Every single day the _Prophet_ quoted him spouting some grandiose words about how fantastic the Wizarding world was, which never resembled something he'd actually said. Or thought in most cases; often he disagreed completely with the sentiments they were attributing to his name. He was sick of it, so he decided to simply just stop talking to everyone.

At first his decision didn't seem to impact his life at all. He was living on his own at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher, who was pretty good at doing what he did without needing instructions. Harry kept himself busy tearing apart the layers of Dark magic on the house and breaking curses on objects; he didn't want to live here forever, he didn't think, but he couldn't very well sell it in the state it was in either. And it wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time, since he'd turned down any and all offers to become an Auror or enter into their training program. Some days he actually toyed with the idea of disappearing into the Muggle world and never looking back, but the idea of living without magic sounded a bit grim after having it for so long.

He sent his new owl, Glaucus, to Hermione and Ron every few days, and assumed they would continue to get together a few times a week, as they had since the war ended. His two friends were somewhat nauseatingly preoccupied with each other at the moment, and had just decided to move into a flat together soon. Harry suspected they'd be married already if Ron had his way, but Hermione was nothing if not practical. She wanted to wait until she'd finished her education, whether that was some sort of university or an apprenticeship, at the very least.

As for Ginny, well... Harry just didn't feel quite ready to settle down. Not with her, and not in general. Something wasn't right there, something hadn't been properly connecting inside him the few times they'd kissed since the war ended. It was nice, of course, really nice - but he hadn't had much of an urge to do more. The comfort and touch, the physical connection, knowing he was loved and desired – that all felt good. He _did_ love Ginny; something just seemed off and he wasn't quite sure what it was.

All right, he did know, sort of. Harry felt that, as an eighteen year old boy, he ought to be dying to have sex with Ginny - but he wasn't. At all. Which seemed like a pretty big indication that there was something wrong, and that it was with him, obviously.

They'd not seen much of each other for almost a year. Then, once everyone was healed from their battle wounds and the Wizarding world was ready to celebrate, Harry had taken Ginny to the galas and parties for which he'd needed a date, but nothing more. She seemed to pick up on his odd moods and hadn't pressed him for an explanation of his distance for the last several months. He could tell she was getting restless, though. She was a great girl - loyal and brave and incredibly pretty. He was just broken somehow. She deserved better.

She _deserved_ someone who didn't feel a sense of relief at the thought of not having to see her, even just once every couple of weeks at a formal, public affair. He knew he was using her and he hated himself for it.

A couple of days into his Silence Resolution, as he liked to think of it, Ron's Pig had delivered a note from Ginny asking if they were going to the Ministry's fundraising banquet on the coming Saturday. Harry had written back that he was finished with the publicity stunts and wouldn't be appearing in public again for an indeterminate length of time, so no. After much pen nibbling and hair pulling, Harry added that he needed some space, that he wasn't seeing or speaking to anybody, and that she shouldn't wait for him. It wasn't a very good way to break off with her, but he was a bit more forthcoming with his feelings on paper than he ever would have been in a conversation, and hoped that she wouldn't be too hurt.

When he didn't get a reply from Ginny, he knew that she was and that it was only a matter of time until Ron showed up to try and pound some sense back into him. For a guy who was so bothered by the thought of his little sister dating as a general concept, Ron was surprisingly adamant that if she absolutely insisted on it, Harry was the one for her.

To try and postpone the inevitable confrontation, Harry sent Glaucus with a note to invite his friends for lunch the next day. That would give Harry the rest of the day to set the wards and then test them on Ron and Hermione.

Several months with almost nothing to do but set up a camping-tent and puzzle over the workings of madmen's minds (and Harry included both Voldemort _and_ Dumbledore in that assessment) had given him the time needed to become quite proficient at wordless spells, at least most of the minor ones. Furthermore, it wasn't as if Harry had taken a magically-binding Vow of Silence or something stupid like that, so if he needed to defend himself, he could. On the whole, though, it was proving surprisingly enjoyable to simply be silent all the time.

After all, if no one was going to listen, why bother speaking?

*****

Ron showed up slightly before lunchtime, dragging a reluctant Hermione with him, to see what the bloody hell Harry was playing at and why he'd dumped the girl who was meant for him and was he finally cracking up after the stress of the last few years or what? Because if he wasn't, then Harry was going to have some explaining to do, to Ron's fists, and he'd better do it pretty damn quickly.

Harry rolled his eyes at the threats and got out a piece of parchment and quill. He then had to dodge Ron, who thought Harry was just going to ignore him. Once it was sorted that no, Ginny had _not_ shared the whole letter with Ron, Harry explained as briefly as he could that he'd made a Resolution of Silence in reaction to the Ministry, _Prophet_ \- in fact the whole bloody Wizarding world - and that yes, that included within the privacy of his own house, too. Yes, even with Ron and Hermione and _yes_ even when Ron needed an explanation fast or he was going to beat Harry to a bloody pulp.

Hermione of course just rolled her eyes and elbowed Ron really hard in the ribs.

That done, Ron launched into a tirade about him breaking up with Ginny. Harry wrote "" in great big words and charmed the ink to make it look like the letters were made of flames. He considered it a plus that he hadn't entirely mastered the spell and after a few moments the parchment actually did spontaneously combust, singeing Ron's fingers.

The slight medical distraction allowed Hermione enough time to get Ron calmed down, not to mention to throw in her two cents that she thought Ginny was all wrong for Harry anyhow. She refused to elaborate and Harry wouldn't meet her eyes; he wasn't sure he wanted to know why she thought that, and especially not in front of Ron.

Food had a wonderful way of settling Ron's temper. After eating, they adjourned to the drawing room with some tea, while Hermione worked on Transfiguring a mirror into a blackboard. That would allow Harry to have a "conversation" with them both without wasting parchment or getting his fingers all covered with ink.

The two lovebirds had an appointment with a letting agency to look at flats, so they had to cut their visit short after lunch. Harry walked them to the front door.

Hermione kissed his cheek and said in her analytical way, "I think this will be good for you. Some time to see what's really going on in your heart, come to terms with all that's happened. Do let me know how I can help, all right?"

Ron paused a moment, then added, "Yeah, we figured you'd go mental at some point. I suppose this isn't so bad. It's hit Ginny pretty hard though, but I guess you know your own mind. Maybe."

Harry, recognizing a Ron-style apology when he heard one, accepted it with an eye roll and slight shove. Ron grinned back, then took Hermione's hand and they Apparated away.

*****

Over the next week, it seemed like almost everyone Harry knew either sent him an owl or tried to drop by for a visit. They all just wanted to make sure he was all right, now that word was spreading that he'd stopped talking, but it was getting quite tedious to have to keep repeating the same story over and over again. Yes, Harry was fine. No, he hadn't completely cracked up. Yes, it was mostly the stress of constantly being in the public eye. No, he wouldn't make an exception and talk to them, not even in his own home. Harry left the general bits of his responses up on the blackboard in the drawing room at all times.

Some tolerated his silent company well, while others got frustrated at his refusal to speak and left in a huff. It was easy to see who his actual friends were, or at least, who the patient ones were. Most of his former fellow-students came as a group and left as one, only Neville and Luna staying behind to chat with each other. Molly of course was far too busy to visit for long once she'd determined that Harry was all right, but Arthur stayed a while, sharing a quiet cup of tea. Hagrid nattered happily about his new quest to try to find a Lethifold, while the newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall left as soon as she'd judged that Harry had not lost his marbles quite yet. Kingsley Shacklebolt said it was the best few hours he'd had since becoming the interim Minister of Magic and jokingly asked whether he could move in with Harry.

After five days of non-stop visits, Harry increased the wards on the house to only let a select few people in, and sent Hermione and Ron (now in their new flat in Hogsmede) an owl asking them to tell everyone to please back the fuck off. Ron immediately popped by to make sure Harry really was all right, and in a moment of surprising reasonability, suggested a game of chess when he noticed the angry expression on Harry's face as a result of his impromptu visit.

After that Harry's life took on a fairly peaceful tone: unraveling Dark curses by day and either entertaining visitors or spending some time relaxing in the evenings. When he had guests, they either played cards or chess or Harry just listened to a small group of friends chat. Otherwise he sat in a cozy chair by the fireplace reading or just thinking as he stared into the flames. Someone owled to ask if they could come by about every two or three days, and Harry was amused that his friends thought this was a subtle way of keeping an eye on him. Frankly, he didn't mind the company, now that the ones who came weren't pestering him to speak.

No, in fact the only bit of business that Harry hadn't dealt with, the only little thing niggling at the back of his mind because he kept putting it off for reasons he didn't quite understand, was returning Draco Malfoy's wand.

He _should_ have given it back right after the end of the final battle. Sure, Malfoy had managed to obtain another wand somehow but Harry knew it was unlikely to fit him as well as his original one had. He didn't _need_ Malfoy's wand and in fact he kept it locked inside a drawer in his wardrobe, hidden away. He had a disconcerting sort of proprietary feeling about the wand, like he had won it as a prize of war, like it belonged to him. But that was ridiculous, not to mention more than just a teensy bit petty. Malfoy's entire life had been ruined by this stupid war, just as much as Harry's had. Just because he'd been a total prat for six years didn't mean that Harry should keep his wand.

Reluctantly he sat down to pen a note to his ex-nemesis. He didn't want to say too much, since all of the owls and Floo calls in and out of Malfoy Manor were monitored and he wasn't sure how the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would feel about The Great Savior Harry Potter trying to give Draco an extra wand when his parents weren't allowed to have them at all while they awaited their trials under house arrest. Draco had lucked out of his own trial by not having the Dark Mark and by being underage and pretty clearly blackmailed into his involvement with Lord Voldemort by threats to his parents' safety.

Harry wasn't certain he completely agreed with that decision; apparently the Malfoy solicitors were quite good at their job. However, Draco and Narcissa _had_ both saved his life, and although those debts had been paid, he was willing to let bygone be bygones so long as Lucius suffered. The way Harry saw it, Lucius had made the decisions for all three Malfoys and all of the responsibility and guilt lay with him. Even if Draco was a bigoted little prat.

He decided on something short and to the point:

  


The reply Glaucus brought back was equally terse:

After a bit of internal debate, Harry decided to just have Malfoy come to the house so he could avoid being in public. Since he wouldn't be talking, perhaps the ferret would keep his mouth shut as well, and they could get through the whole encounter without hexing each other to bits. He instructed Malfoy to meet him at 15 Grimmauld Place and would then show him inside.

Harry was certain his friends would question his decision to admit Malfoy into the house, despite it still being warded to the teeth. It was, after all, warded for Harry's protection, but frankly he didn't feel very threatened by Draco any longer. And on the plus side, since he couldn't tell his friends what he was intending to do, he didn't have to feel guilty about it. There _were_ some perks to this silent thing.

*****

Their meeting went better than expected. Malfoy was clearly more interested in getting his wand and getting out than in harassing Harry, though he did seem quite taken aback when Harry simply handed him a note explaining both the Silence Resolution and admitting him into the Black Family's house. He was polite to the point of formality, looking around but not asking questions while Harry escorted him to the drawing room and then dashed upstairs to get the wand from its hiding place.

He returned to find Kreacher setting out a silver tea service Harry hadn't seen before and pushing some scones at Malfoy. He tensed for a moment, remembering the elf's past history with the Malfoys, but then relaxed incrementally as he saw that Kreacher was still wearing Regulus' locket and that the scones were Harry's favorite kind, oatmeal with orange zest. Perhaps Kreacher had just been holding onto the tea set until Harry had someone over in what seemed like a formal setting. He decided to let it go and enjoy the tea and scones.

Malfoy drank one cup of tea in a way that was clearly polite to the letter, yet he couldn't entirely hide the fact that he was vibrating with the urge to hurry up and finish so that Harry would give him his wand back. Harry leisurely ate half a scone before he grew tired of being a bastard and handed over Malfoy's wand.

It was interesting to watch Malfoy's reception of the longed-for item – he seized it like a greedy child, but the moment it was within his grasp, his fingers cradled the slender stick of wood tentatively, stroking over the whorls in the grain as the tension between his eyebrows and in the set of his shoulders relaxed. He raised a brow inquiringly in Harry's direction and, pretty sure he knew what Malfoy was asking, Harry nodded. Malfoy Summoned a quill from across the room, and even more tension drained out of him as the quill sailed gracefully into his hand.

"Well, you didn't tamper with it, I see," was Malfoy's grudging comment.

Harry shot him a disgusted look.

Standing up, Malfoy took a deep breath before saying very formally, as if rehearsed, "Thank you, Potter, for returning my wand. I am aware that you didn't have to return it, and I..." Here he took a deep breath, "...am most grateful." He pursed his lips, then added, "My family and I are already in your debt."

Part of Harry wanted to smirk and enjoy watching Malfoy twist on his own sense of honor and debt and repayment, but most of him was just bloody sick of all this stupid shit about Life and Other Debts in the Wizarding world.

He crossed to the chalkboard and wrote, "" 

He turned around to see Malfoy attempting to reign in an expression that, on anyone with less self-control, would have been totally gobsmacked.

"You're sure?"

Harry nodded.

Malfoy looked at the wand in his hand for a long moment. Then, squaring his shoulders, he walked over to Harry and held out his hand.

That seemed like an oddly un-Malfoy-ish way to settle things but Harry shrugged inside and took the proffered hand. It was a bit cold, even after a cup of tea, and their shake was more like a brief clasp of hands. It was awkward and strange and for some reason it made Malfoy's eyes light up with a strange hint of pleasure that Harry thought was totally unaccountable.

After a strained moment, where Malfoy seemed almost embarrassed and Harry was simply puzzled, Draco thanked him again and said he needed to get back home. Harry escorted him out, reset the wards, and went back to nibble contemplatively on another scone until he shrugged his shoulders and gave up ever trying to figure out what was going on inside Malfoy's head.

*****

Two days later Harry was in a foul mood. Not only had he been unable to break the hexes on the glass cabinet in the library after an entire day of trying, but the hallway rug on the second floor had unexpectedly tried to strangle him like a giant boa constrictor as he was on his way to the loo early in the morning. To top it all off he'd had an owl from Ron inviting him to Sunday dinner at the Burrow, followed immediately by a Howler that was already smoking when a very disheveled Erroll dropped it in front of him.

It erupted at once into Ginny's voice, magically enhanced and sounding impressively similar to Molly's. She berated her idiot brother for being so insensitive and Harry for breaking up with her and being a self-centered idiot, and threatened to eviscerate them both if Harry came into her house before she was ready to see him. The actual majority of the Howler was Ginny yelling at Ron, which Harry understood but he wished that Ron had been there to hear it and share in Harry's ringing eardrums. Finally, to top off the whole exchange, the small fire that started when the Howler exploded burned a hole in the sofa before Harry could get his nonverbal Aguamenti to work.

The next day Ron popped in with the twins, who had a great deal of fun trying to provoke Harry into talking or take him by surprise. Harry held that the shriek he let out when Fred tickled under his arms didn't count as speaking, no matter that they said.

However, it seemed they'd had a reason for their visit beyond simply taking the piss when Ron disappeared to use the loo and left the other three alone.

"We heard you'd gone a bit nutters, Harry..." said George.

"...and wanted you to know you've our full support in this. We always knew you'd make a fantastic madman..." added Fred.

"...even if you decided not to use your powers for evil and become The Dark Potter," George teased.

"So after talking to Hermione, we thought we'd share the spell the professors at Hogwarts use to throw their notes up onto the blackboards."

"It's not much but it's the least we could do," Fred added. "You know, to thank you for that whole defeating Voldemort thing."

Harry gave them a puzzled look, then wrote "" with a bit of chalk.

The twins had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Well, er, you see..." George hesitated.

"We thought it'd be dead useful for graffiti," explained Fred.

"Except it didn't work – chalk makes crap graffiti and you could barely read it on the castle stones." George shook his head sadly. "We spent hours in the library looking it up."

"Still, at least it wasn't time wasted if you can use it, Harry," Fred grinned, clapping him on the back.

"What are you two doing to Harry?" Ron's suspicious voice asked from the doorway.

"We're not sexually harassing him, if that's what you're worried about," George said with a roll of the eyes.

"Right; it's not harassment if the lad's willing," Fred teased, reaching back to give Harry's arse a squeeze.

Harry smacked away the offending hands and made a mental note to think about the way his prick had twitched at the warmth of Fred's hands on his body later - much later, perhaps some time after Azkaban had become a tropical family holiday destination.

*****

The next day was quite eventful. A familiar eagle owl swooped into Harry's kitchen as if it owned the place, holding out its leg and fluttering impatiently until Harry removed the letter from Malfoy.

Harry's temper almost made him set the parchment on fire but Malfoy _did_ have a point – Harry had kept the wand for far longer than he could justify. It wasn't like he'd expected Malfoy to suddenly turn over a new leaf and be nice or anything, even if the arsehole was grateful to have it back. It had probably killed him to have to write Harry asking for help.

Well, he could prove he was the bigger man, yet again. Even if the Life Debt had been cancelled out at least twice over, Harry would never forget that Malfoy hadn't betrayed him, even in the confines of the Manor. Draco _had_ changed, at least some.

He hadn't tampered with the wand at all though, so he started to mull over what could possibly be wrong with it. It wasn't his fault if Malfoy had forgotten some spells in his year of near-imprisonment at the Manor. Perhaps he was just rusty, Harry thought, sniggering to himself.

However, a more logical thought popped into his head; perhaps Malfoy needed to win the wand back from Harry, the way he had won it from Draco in the first place. He wondered if the wand would care if Harry threw the game, so to speak, and _let_ Malfoy take the wand from him. Then again, Expelliarmus worked whether Harry cooperated or not, so that might not be relevant.

It couldn't hurt to try; he'd just have to find a way to explain his theory to Draco. Er, Malfoy. He shook his head at himself.

Harry also received a firecall that afternoon, which was annoying. If he wasn't going to talk, the Floo was strictly a one-way message device and an owl bearing a note seemed much more polite to Harry than someone talking at him while he gestured and nodded. Still, he appreciated the invitation from Bill and Fleur to come and see Victoire, and he nodded his agreement to show up at seven o'clock for dinner.

Returning to Shell Cottage was more difficult than Harry had anticipated. Although Fleur had done her best to make the place more warm and welcoming, even redecorating a bit since he was last there (most likely to make it baby-proof), the cottage still seemed haunted by the specter of war in Harry's mind. He visited Dobby's grave with Fleur and Victoire upon his arrival, and got a bit more choked up than he had anticipated. He was grateful to have the infant in his arms to divert his attention, as she didn't seem to care if his eyes watered a bit.

It wasn't that the other losses during the war hadn't affected him, it was just that it was so easy to put them aside and live in the present. There simply hadn't _been_ a lot of time for Harry to spend in mourning. The memory of the death of the selfless house elf had made him feel like something was tearing apart inside his chest. All of the loss and suffering hit him unexpectedly, as if those feelings had just been waiting for the last half-year.

He busied himself making faces to entertain the baby while Fleur prattled about her child's amazing development and how she was nearly crawling already, while Bill was in the kitchen finishing up their supper. He quite liked holding Victoire, to his surprise; perhaps someday he really would have a family of his own, children and everything. Not for a long while though, he thought, snickering as Fleur and Bill tried to get the evening's meal into the baby, rather than all over her as she seemed to prefer.

Harry even managed to keep his Silence Resolution, despite Bill's teasing. "You've always been a bit quiet – I hardly noticed the difference," he said, slapping Harry on the shoulder as the four of them walked outside to see Harry off.

Fleur rolled her eyes at Bill, adding that it had been very nice to have Harry over and he should come back again soon. Her eyes took on a mischievous sparkle as she said, "Gabrielle will be visiting in a few weeks; perhaps you might come by for dinner then?"

Harry could feel his face turning red as Bill scowled at his wife, but thankfully Bill kept his mouth shut about Harry's recent break-up with Ginny. Harry shuffled his feet a bit, then awkwardly waved goodbye and Disapparated with the sound of their farewells still ringing in his ears.

*****

Harry spent some time preparing for Malfoy's visit, writing on the blackboard his theory about Draco needing to disarm him. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy thought his notion was rubbish and instead insisted on testing out a few hexes first. Fortunately, his mother had informed him of the ghoul that had been haunting the upstairs toilet for generations and Harry had no objections to Malfoy doing almost anything he wanted to it.

The pseudoscientific approach Malfoy used was amusing to watch, casting spells from a list and making notes about the results. It reminded Harry that his former schoolmate actually _had_ done pretty well in most of their classes. He was no Hermione, but he was clever and had an amazing focus when he set to a task. Harry chose to ignore that historically his own suffering had usually been the result of Malfoy's intelligence.

After an hour of testing different spells, Draco declared that indeed, the wand was not performing to capacity. His eyes flashed with anger when Harry wrote on the blackboard that perhaps he was simply out of practice. Harry didn't bother to stifle his snigger.

"Oh, you think I didn't have enough time to practice Dark spells in the last year, do you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "That it was all tea parties and presents from Aunt Bella and her friends?"

Harry flinched. The memory of Draco's strained, thin face, the dark circles under his eyes, the fear etched permanently into his expression, a prisoner in his own Manor, assailed him. No indeed, it hadn't been a fun year for Malfoy, and in fact Harry didn't really want to know the details. Shrugging and nodding in an awkwardly apologetic way, Harry erased his last comment from the blackboard. After a moment's pause, he tapped the words left on it, his theory about Disarming.

Draco kept his eyes focused on the words written in chalk, taking a few purposefully slow breaths to calm himself. "I need a drink," he finally said, and turned to head toward the stairs.

Bypassing the still-draped dining room, Harry showed Malfoy into the kitchen, where he made a pot of tea while Draco rolled his eyes and pointed out that Harry actually _had_ a house elf, although he wasn't surprised that the Boy Hero didn't know how to treat them. Harry scowled back, but there wasn't really any venom in their exchange. On the whole, Malfoy seemed to have forgiven him for bringing up the past, although they were both still somewhat uncomfortable.

After a silent cup of tea, they returned to the drawing room. Harry added a bit more to his suggestion on the blackboard, drawing out a diagram of the action, complete with labeled stick figures and various wands and arrows everywhere. He only stopped to look at Malfoy when he finished.

  


Who was smirking at him. "On a first name basis, are we now, _Harry_?"

Harry turned back to the diagram. The figures were clearly marked "Harry" and "Draco." He rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wand changed it to read "Malfoy."

Surprisingly, the reaction to that wasn't the satisfied snort Harry had expected. Rather, Malfoy sounded unusually awkward but sincere as he said, after a long moment of silence, "No, I suppose it's all right. It's not like we're on opposite sides of anything any longer." With one slender finger he wiped away the chalk, then wrote in his given name again.

"All right?" he asked, turning to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded.

"Well then," Draco said, slowly exhaling to dispel some of the tension. "Let's give this idea of yours a try. After all, I've been waiting to Disarm you since second year."

Surprisingly (to Draco anyway), it went off without a hitch. Malfoy sent a fairly weak Expelliarmus at Harry, who let go of the wand quite easily since he was prepared for it, and barely even wobbled on his feet. Malfoy's relief was so apparent that it was only once it was all over that Harry considered that the last few Disarmings Malfoy had witnessed or participated in had been fairly traumatic events for him.

Anyway, it was done with and Malfoy set to testing his old wand again. This time, every spell was flawless and Harry found himself actually impressed at Draco's skill with Charms and Transfiguration. The nuances and details he could achieve in the simple animation of a parchment Hippogryff were amazing.

Malfoy's pleasure at having his wand back in top form was infectious, and even after he left to return to his Manor for supper, Harry found his own solitary evening passed with a sense of lasting contentment. Not only had his theory about the wands been correct but his interactions with Draco had almost all been pleasant. After nearly eight years of hostility, Harry found that he had actually sort of enjoyed their afternoon together.

Perhaps there was hope for the world after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Oddly enough, Malfoy seemed to feel the same way. Harry was only somewhat surprised when Tiberius returned a few days later with a very short note asking if Draco could come by with a small gift of thanks for Harry, since he would be in town anyway.

The gift turned out to be an Unchippable teapot and set of four mugs, which amused Harry to no end. At least, it did until he had a fleeting memory of Professor Lupin's chipped mugs, which rather ruined his good mood for a few moments. Malfoy didn't seem to notice, which was another handy aspect of the Silence Resolution; people weren't so aware of Harry's mercurial mood swings unless they were staring him in the face all the time.

From there it somehow became normal for Draco to pop in with little warning once or twice a week. Harry began to doubt whether Malfoy really had that much business to conduct in London, but as neither of his parents were able to leave the Manor and with their trials rapidly approaching, he supposed that perhaps there was. Either way, it wasn't any of his concern, and he found he enjoyed the company.

Now _that_ was shocking. Somehow he and Malfoy had become _friends_.

Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising, not really. They were both somewhat lonely. Draco had been isolated at the Manor for nearly two years now and seemed to need someone to talk to. Harry was in a perfect position to simply listen and he found that Malfoy was much more interesting and amusing than he would ever have suspected. They shared a few mid-day meals and eventually Draco discovered the chess set in the corner. That led to several games where Harry was utterly trounced; Draco seemed to be almost as good a player as Ron.

The next time he came over, Malfoy brought a bottle of scotch older than they were, combined, and introduced the idea of a penalty sip for every piece lost. Harry was well on his way to a drunken stupor before Malfoy called the game off, citing that it was no fun to play with a half-wit who was practically a quarter-wit when inebriated.

Harry wasn't able to work out what exactly Malfoy had said until the next day, but he did remember the blond's promise to return and teach Harry both how to improve his game _and_ hold his liquor like a gentleman. Knowing Draco would be back made a warm glow settle in his stomach somewhere.

Harry couldn't believe he was feeling like such a sap merely about making a new friend. But it was _Malfoy_ , and after all these years. Harry was, well, intrigued. Everyone else whom he saw, he knew so well. He'd lived with Ron and Hermione for so long he practically knew what they were going to say before they said it. Not that he didn't enjoy their company, of course, he hastened to remind himself. It was just that Malfoy, or at least this side of him, of _Draco_ , was new. Interesting. Unusual.

Harry had always had a bit of a weakness for oddities and mysteries.

Speaking of oddities, Luna and Neville were due to arrive for supper, and Kreacher had gone all out preparing some sort of fish pie that was apparently a favorite of Luna's. Harry was beginning to wonder at the constant appearance of his two friends together and made a mental note to try and notice whether there was a romance blossoming between the two of them.

As always, Neville was fairly quiet throughout the evening, but the flush staining his cheeks whenever Luna happened to touch his arm or say his name seemed like a pretty clear sign to Harry. Heaven only knew what was going on in Luna's head, but Harry knew Neville well enough to recognize a crush when he saw it, remembering how his shy roommate had acted when he'd fancied Hermione and Ginny, in turn.

Neville had grown up a bit since then, though, and Harry was always a tiny bit startled at how much his friend had changed over the last year, how much confidence he had found. When he wrote something to that effect on the blackboard, Luna concurred.

"It was amazing to see, Harry. It was as if all the struggles and beatings and misery we endured seemed to turn Neville into the man he always meant to be. So rapidly, too... Of course I guess we all had to grow up in a hurry. War isn't a child's game."

Neville turned positively red at this compliment, and although it was sweet, Harry felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut. They spoke so matter-of-factly about the horrible things the Carrows and other Death Eaters had done to them and their fellow students, turning Harry's beloved Hogwarts, his refuge, into a nightmarish prison. Harry had always felt that the weight of his destiny had aborted his own childhood, but it hurt him beyond measure that so many of his friends had suffered a similar fate as well. That these gentle two especially, who had always been so unfailingly loyal, should have suffered so much, tore him apart inside.

He wanted to say something, _do_ something, but there was nothing he could do. No words could make it better, could give them back their innocence, or at least their naivety. He moved to the blackboard and, using the chalk rather than casting the spell so they wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill down his face, he wrote It was such a pathetic thing to say, so feeble and useless, and he wrote it again and again while his hands shook as he tried and failed to bring his emotions under control.

Luna's soft hand on his shoulder was just too much. He rested his forehead on the cool slate as she said, "It's not your fault, Harry. None of it. There's nothing you should have done differently."

he wrote, sniffling and trying to subtly wipe his face on his raised arm.

"She's right, you know," Neville said, awkwardly. "Whatever you've been telling yourself, it doesn't matter. We all did what we had to do. The fault for all of it lies with Voldemort. Don't you dare blame yourself for anything he did, Harry."

The quiet conviction in Neville's voice lent Harry a measure of strength, if not peace. he wrote. He busied himself with making a pot of tea for all of them, and soon the conversation turned to other topics.

The rest of the evening was pleasant, if subdued. It was good to see his two friends taking tentative steps toward beginning a romance, even if they were both a bit hopeless about that sort of thing. Harry recognized that he himself was not faring any better in that department and silently wished them success and happiness.

Once they had gone, though, his feelings returned to melancholy and gloom. He did _know_ that the suffering and deaths of so many others was not his fault. He had not been the direct agent of such destruction, chaos, and torment. But there was a great chasm between the factual knowledge and his emotional response. If only he had figured out Dumbledore's riddles faster. If only he had confronted Voldemort earlier. If only, if only, if only...

He tossed and turned all night, wishing even one of his older friends was still alive to talk to - Sirius, Remus, even Tonks. Perhaps then words would be worth speaking. Instead, the silence inside him simply affirmed how alone he was.

*****

Distraction arrived late the next morning in the form of Draco, with chocolate éclairs which he refused to disclose the origin of. Harry secretly wondered if Draco might have Apparated all the way to France for them but then realized that it was far more likely that the Malfoy house elves had made them.

They played a game of chess, then ate lunch. After that Harry began to get a bit twitchy, wondering when Draco planned to leave so that he could get to work. He was surprised when Draco asked what Harry was planning to do that day, and even more so when he received an offer to help.

Today's task was to get that bloody rug in the upstairs hallway to stop attacking him, he wrote, glaring at Draco when the blond tried and failed to stifle his sniggering. When Draco asked what the plan was, Harry shrugged weakly and pointed at a few books lying around the drawing room, which he consulted for the more stubborn curses that he couldn't figure out on his own.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I _know_ there's a library downstairs, Harry. There've got to be better resources than this," he said, thumbing through a low-level curse breaking guide Hermione had brought him.

Harry glanced nervously at the far-right corner of the floor, as if he could see through it into the next level.

"Don't tell me the library's haunted," Draco teased.

Barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out, Harry wrote, 

Draco snorted. "Come on, Potter. I'll protect you," he offered, taking Harry by the arm and leading him to the stairs.

Once in the library, the conversation become one-sided again, since there was no blackboard. Yet it wasn't all that difficult to communicate, with Draco's constant monologue only interrupted by Harry's occasional nods or head shakes. Draco had Harry demonstrate the problem, resulting in blood-curdling shrieks and ominous shaking of the floors, walls, and bookshelves whenever Harry's fingertips got within an inch of a book.

Shaking his head in mock dismay, Draco clucked his tongue. "Potter. These are _Dark_ books," he said slowly, as if Harry were mentally challenged. "Like the Restricted Section at school? You have to show them who's boss." At Harry's still-blank look, he rolled his eyes. "Hex them, Harry. Cast something Dark on the whole lot of them! Show them you mean it."

Harry blinked. Clearly Draco had totally lost his mind. Hex _books_?

Draco rolled his eyes. "Confringo!" he shouted, stabbing his wand at the books. The room shivered once, then settled. Draco nonchalantly walked over to a shelf and pulled down a few tomes that looked like they were bound with snakeskin.

Harry took a step forward and the shelves rattled warningly. With a long-suffering sigh, he withdrew his wand and cast a nonverbal Stinging Jinx at the books. He reached out again and the library shrieked in outrage.

"You've got to _mean_ it, Potter. They're books, for fuck's sake. They're keeping important information from you! Are you going to let a bunch of bloody _paper_ run roughshod over you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and cast an angry Incendio at the books, honestly not caring a whit whether they burst into flame or not. Again, a slight shudder went through the library. Once it passed, Harry tentatively reached out... and touched a book.

No noise. No bookshelves shaking, threatening to bludgeon and bury him with their heavy contents. Just a book in his hand.

The smile he gave Draco almost hurt his face, it was so wide. And although the blond tried to shrug it off with a casual insult to Harry's intelligence, he couldn't help but notice that the grey eyes were sparkling with warmth as Draco shoved him towards an area full of books on house protection spells and suggested they get to work.

A few hours later found them back in the drawing room in front of the blackboard. They both looked a bit worse for wear. Then again, so did the rug upstairs.

"This would be so much bloody easier if you'd just speak the damned spells, Potter," Draco huffed.

Harry tapped the words already written on the board.

"I _know_ that, you great git. I'm just saying it's asinine, inside your own house."

Harry shrugged in a way which clearly conveyed that he didn't really give a toss what Draco thought of his Resolution.

"First you have to unravel the hexes, then decide what spells to use as a counter-hex, then practice it enough for the spell to work... And of course you have to do bloody _wordlessly_ , which makes it all infinitely harder. Do you ever do anything the easy way, Potter?"

Harry thought for a moment. He shook his head negatively.

Draco laughed. "No, you never do." His stomach broke the mood by giving a loud growl. "You can't even call your bloody house elf, Harry. This is so stupid."

Harry scowled at him, then took out his wand and tapped the name written on the blackboard. The elf popped into the room immediately and Harry turned to give Draco a smug look.

"Would Master like his supper now?" the old elf asked, bowing.

Harry nodded.

"Will young Master Malfoy be joining him?"

Harry quirked a brow at Draco, with a bit of a smile.

Draco hesitated. "All right. But I should firecall Mother."

They had a leisurely meal, Kreacher once again going all-out to entertain what he apparently considered an important guest. When Draco questioned the elf about the dining room, though, Harry kicked him in the shin, shaking his head.

"The dining room is still not fit for Master to entertain in," Kreacher said with unexpected diplomacy.

Harry's chuckle made it clear what a gross understatement this was. The last person who had touched a covered chair in that room found herself mummified and nearly strangled by the dustcovers as the silverware struggled to get out of the cabinets. Tonks had been lucky that Moody was in the hall and able to get her out of there and the door shut behind them bare instants before the murderous cutlery embedded itself in the wood.

After dinner they returned to the drawing room and decided on a game of senet rather than chess. Harry had never played, which necessitated a lot of deep sighing on Draco's part as he attempted to both teach the game and win.

Liquor seemed to help him reign in his impatience, and they played for a while until Harry apparently tried to make a rather bad move. Draco clucked his tongue, then reached out and put his hand over Harry's, moving his fingers from one piece to another, better move. Later, he scooted his chair closer to show Harry a tricky little bit of strategy and their thighs pressed together.

At both of these instances, Harry froze but tried to act like nothing had happened. Draco didn't seem to notice how his face grew hot and must have turned red, nor Harry's not-so-subtle need to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. The second time Draco pressed their legs together, he could hardly repress the shiver that went through his whole body and settled in his crotch.

There was an awkward moment when Draco left, and Harry almost expected the blond to hug him or something weird like that, but it didn't happen. He went to bed feelingly mildly disappointed and very unsettled. Not to mention distressingly aroused.

*****

A few days later Harry sent an owl to Mrs. Tonks, asking if he could come over and visit Teddy. He still found it unbelievable that he was a godfather, and had no real idea what that involved, particularly with an infant. The impetus for this sudden urge was a growing feeling of both restlessness and grief; the day before he had come across a book in the library, stuffed with bits of old parchment, notes in Remus' handwriting. It must have been left there from when Remus was living at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. A wave of longing to talk to his old professor, his first link to his parents, and the last one to die, almost made Harry break down right there in the library.

Teddy was much bigger than Victorie had been and Harry was amazed at how quickly he had grown. He wasn't a baby anymore, really; he was toddling and babbling and seemed quite obsessed with changing his hair to match whatever bright colors were around him. When Mrs. Tonks left them alone for a few moments to fetch them some lunch, Harry entertained the child as best he could but found himself lost in thoughts of the orphan boy's parents. The parallels between them hit Harry for the first time, and he vowed to himself that no matter how decent a grandmother Andromeda was, Harry would be there too, as often as he could.

Sitting there, holding Teddy as he fell asleep, Harry felt an urge to speak, to apologize. To Mrs. Tonks, for the loss of her husband and daughter. To the baby, for getting both of his parents killed and not even knowing the details of their deaths. To Tonks, for the snuffing of her bright spirit. Most strongly, though, Harry wished he could apologize to Remus. He'd never had a chance to talk to him and settle things after their argument when Remus tried to run away.

But he couldn't apologize for things that everyone kept saying weren't his fault, and Teddy wouldn't understand his words anyway, and Remus was dead. So really, what was the point in speaking?

Almost everything he _needed_ to say and _wanted_ to say, he couldn't, because the people he needed to speak to were dead.

He went home, thinking of all the people he had lost because of Voldemort and this stupid war. Because Harry had been the Chosen One, chosen by an insane man named Tom Riddle. He'd lost Remus and Tonks and Moody. His embarrassingly devoted friend Dobby had been killed and would never again squeal with delight at being given socks for Christmas. Hedwig, who had kept him sane during the summer holidays and reminded him that he was a wizard even while locked up at the Dursleys', would never again nip his fingers or steal his toast.

His schoolmates Colin Creevey and even that gorilla, Crabbe, were gone and Harry couldn't find it in him to be callous about the death of someone so stupidly following the orders of his father. Not unlike Draco...

Sirius would never take Harry for a ride on his flying motorbike. Never grin at him again with that mad sparkle in his eyes that half-worried, half-amused Harry. Even the passage of nearly three years hadn't made that wound fade.

Nor had the length of time since Dumbledore had been killed caused that to hurt less, even knowing now as much as he did about the old man's plots and machinations. Despite his mentor's fallibility and weaknesses, Harry found he could not love him any less, could not stay angry with his memory forever. In the end, Dumbledore had been a man, not a god. He had done what he'd thought was right. And in the end it had worked out.

It was the same with Snape. Harry wanted to go on hating him but after seeing his memories, and the tragic life the man had led, Harry found himself with nothing but grudging sympathy for his former professor. Yes, the man had been a bully of the worst sort, and needlessly cruel to Harry. Yet he could understand it, a bit, since he had looked so very much like James, and how much that reminder of Lily's choice must have hurt Snape every time he looked at Harry. And in the end Snape too had done what was right, even though no one, not one single living soul, believed in him.

And finally the oldest losses of all: his mum and dad. A man and woman he never knew, not as people nor as parents, and only a bit as ghosts and memories. And he never would.

Harry went upstairs to bed, and was only a little embarrassed when, a few hours later, Kreacher silently brought him a dry pillowcase to sleep on.

*****

Hermione and Ron noticed that Harry's mood had taken a downward turn when they came by the next day; how could they not? He was almost as sullen and mopey as he'd been the summer he turned sixteen. It took a bit of wrangling but eventually the two of them annoyed Harry enough to admit that he was upset from the visit with Teddy.

Hermione quickly drew the underlying truth out of him - that he was finally feeling all of the losses of the last few years.

"Well, you didn't exactly stop and take any time to grieve properly," she nodded. "I'm not surprised that now that you aren't speaking, now that you have some time alone with your thoughts, all of this is surfacing. It's not uncommon to postpone grief until a time when you're more able to deal with it, psychologically."

Harry did a complicated thing that involved both a shrug and a roll of his eyes.

Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm. "I didn't say you were dealing with it _well_. Just better, perhaps, than you might have done right after each death, or even the end of the war. It's a lot to deal with," she said sympathetically.

Ron grinned a bit. "Yeah Harry, I told you we all expected you to have a meltdown at some point. The last few years have been ever so slightly traumatic."

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way, Ron," Hermione scowled. "But I don't disagree with his sentiments," she added, looking at Harry. "I'm sure there's a lot left unsaid. Perhaps this Silence Resolution of yours wasn't just about staying away from the public eye, was it? It's given you some much-needed time to think."

Harry sort of shrugged and looked down at his hands. She was right about some of it - he did wish there was a way he could have resolved things with Lupin. Or Sirius. Or Dumbledore. Or even Snape.

They were all silent for a bit until Ron said in a thoughtful tone, "Yeah, I suppose things with Remus were fairly messed up there at the end, weren't they? You two never had a chance to talk before he died."

Harry shrugged again.

"Well," Hermione said after a moment, "What about writing them letters?"

Harry gave her the most incredulous look possible.

"No, I'm serious. Many people suggest writing letters to friends and family members who have passed away, particularly when you didn't have a chance to say goodbye or other things you wish you had been able to tell them. It can be quite cathartic. Therapists are always recommending it."

Ron gave her a look. "Let me get this straight. You want Harry to write letters to dead people?" he said.

She nodded.

"What the bloody hell is the owl gong to do with them? They can't deliver letters to people who aren't here anymore. They'd just exhaust themselves trying to find the recipient and come back to Harry. Talk about depressing!"

Hermione kicked him. "You don't _send_ the letters, you dolt. It's just an opportunity to get all of your thoughts down on paper so they stop banging around inside your head."

"Oh," Ron said, taken aback. "All right. I guess it doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, then. Do you have thoughts banging around inside your head, Harry?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry gave him a rueful grin. After a moment he nodded.

he wrote.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Some people keep them, I guess. Or maybe burn then. That's what I'd do, I think, so the essence of the words could go off to whatever realm you believe their spirits are in now, the place beyond the Veil."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Ron made a face. "I take it back – the whole thing's completely daft."

"Fine Ron! Why don't you suggest something constructive then?" she glowered.

"Don't know," he shrugged, "Firewhisky maybe?"

They all laughed a bit at that and the conversation thankfully turned to other topics. Hermione was thrilled that Harry had figured out how to access the Grimmauld Place library and eagerly went downstairs to cast her own hexes at it. It took a few tries, but she eventually managed to subdue the guardian spells and happily set about exploring the previously off-limits collection while the two boys went down to the kitchen for a snack.

A few hours after they'd left, Tiberius arrived with a note from Draco asking if he could stop by after supper. Draco arrived promptly at nine o'clock, causing Harry to wonder what he'd been doing all day which made him so eager to get away from the Manor again.

Not that Harry minded, really. Not at all.

As was his usual habit, Malfoy checked out the contents of the blackboard in the drawing room to see what was going on in Harry's life recently, while Harry went to fetch some drinks and snacks. When he returned, pleased at having found a nearly-full packet of biscuits to go with their tea, he was confronted by a thoughtful looking Draco.

"What's this about letters to dead people?" he asked.

Harry sighed. he wrote, giving Draco a look that clearly communicated his lack of desire to discuss the topic any further.

Draco stared at the words for a few minutes. "Hmm... Not a half-bad idea, actually. There are a few things I wish I had been able to say to Severus. And Greg..."

Harry nodded, trying to look sympathetic.

After a pause, Draco changed the topic. "How are you doing on finding spells to break the curse on that rug?"

Relieved, Harry nodded again, grabbing a heavy book and gesturing to the sofa. Draco sat down quite close to him, their bodies touching at the shoulders and arms and down the length of their legs. Harry knew it was just so they could both look at the small writing in the book but it still sent a flutter of pleasure through his body.

Hoping his face wasn't too flushed, he tried to both ignore and simultaneously will down his burgeoning erection. Being a teenage boy was so humiliating at times, even though this almost never happened to him anymore. Thank the gods he was getting older.

Also, Malfoy smelled really good, he noticed.

Swallowing hard and refusing to let his mind wander any further in _that_ direction, Harry focused on what Draco was saying about curses which animated non-living objects versus ones that made such objects semi-sentient. That would definitely impact which counter-hexes might work best on the damned rug.

By the time Malfoy finally left, after a glass of scotch and a game of chess, Harry was so hard he didn't know how Draco had failed to notice. He ran upstairs to his room as fast as he could and practically had his hands in his pants before the door slammed shut.

Images of blond hair and pale skin flashed through his mind as he set a quick pace, and the ghost of the warmth of Draco's body pressed against him on the sofa made him shiver. The memory of Fred's hands grabbing his arse the week before and what it might have felt like if they'd lingered, squeezing his bum, tore a small moan from his throat.

A light sweat broke out over Harry's still mostly-clothed body and he leaned against the door as his knees were threatening to give out while he frantically pulled on his cock. Panting for breath, the startling and fiercely arousing image of _Draco_ wanking suddenly popped into his mind.

Thoughts of those long pale fingers wrapped around an equally long, pale prick dragged a shout from Harry's throat as he climaxed harder than he thought he ever had before, almost blacking out for a moment. Aftershocks of pleasure left him trembling, gasping, and very grateful he lived alone and there was no one to hear, to bear witness to the name he had almost certainly let slip out.

Slumped against the door, Harry took a moment to catch his breath, still reeling from what had just happened. He'd wanked off over Malfoy. Draco.

A _boy_.

And he'd come harder than he ever had, even after snogging Ginny for hours, imagining her letting him go all the way.

Harry cleaned himself up and Banished the mess. He was going to have an awful lot to think about when he woke up from his post-orgasmic nap, he knew, but it could wait until then. Or until the morning.

Or hopefully, never.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco came by late the next morning with scones and a parcel from Flourish and Blotts. A bit warily, Harry accepted the gift and opened it to find a box of parchment and a new quill made from pheasant feather. Draco had even included a bottle of ink – black with a hint of green when Harry held the bottle up to the light.

"They're for your letters," he said, as if they'd only just been talking about the subject a moment ago rather than the night before. "I'm going to give it a try, too."

Harry nodded his thanks, although a strange feeling fluttered around his insides and he wasn't sure if it was a result of thinking about writing the letters, or because Malfoy was standing so awfully close.

It was a brief visit, since Draco had a meeting with the family solicitors at noon - which was good, as Harry was expecting Ron and Hermione for lunch. Indeed, it seemed like he only spent a few hours flipping through musty smelling old books and decidedly _not_ thinking about Draco before the wards on the Floo were chiming to let him know that someone was coming through. He greeted his friends and went downstairs to fetch their lunch

He wasn't gay. Malfoy was just... _pretty_. Anyone would think so.

Probably.

When Harry returned, levitating a tray of sandwiches, he had a moment of deja vu; Ron was standing in front of the backboard, reading it with a puzzled expression on his face. Hermione seemed a bit surprised as well. Harry made a mental note to remember to erase the bloody thing more often.

"Uh, Harry, mate, is there anything you'd like to tell us?" Ron asked.

Harry looked at the diagram from the night before: another stick figure masterpiece, clearly labeled with his name and Draco's and the cursed upstairs rug. Several spells were listed to the side, as possibilities. They'd had a very productive brainstorming session.

"Is something going on?" Hermione probed.

The first thought that popped into Harry's head was, oddly, the worry that his friends could somehow tell that he might be queer. This was followed by a swift bit of logic, aided by Ron scowling and poking at the chalk that spelled " ." Unfortunately, rather than soothing his blood pressure even just the sight of the name made Harry's crotch tingle, which trigged a memory of last night's unbelievably fantastic wank. He tried not to flush and took a few deep breaths to calm down.

A couple of flicks of his wand had an abbreviated version of the story on the blackboard. He outlined returning Malfoy's wand, the Disarming, the thank you gifts, the visits and the developing friendship. And yes, even the use of Draco's name. He wrote in response to Ron's rather predictable insults that no, Malfoy hadn't totally changed, but that he was kind of fun to hang out with anyhow and really quite helpful with unraveling the Dark curses around the house.

"He was the one who told you how to access the library, wasn't he?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry nodded.

"So this has been happening for a while, then?" Ron asked. "When were you going to tell us?"

Harry shrugged and gestured to the " " still written on the slate.

Both of his friends gave him skeptical looks.

"We come here at least three times a week. Surely you could have brought it up," Hermione said.

They were right but Harry still scowled at them anyway.

"Well, so long as you're on your guard," Ron said, clearly not wanting to talk about Malfoy any more than he had to. "I know you can hold your own against him; never beaten you yet, has he? I just wonder what the little ferret wants from you..."

Glad to let the matter drop, Harry just shrugged and nudged a packet of chocolate biscuits towards Ron. Hermione gave him one last penetrating look, then shrugged her shoulders and began flipping through the books he and Draco had left lying around.

A short while later, after Ron and Harry had finished a game of chess that was much closer than usual (Harry's game had improved a lot from all of his practice with Draco), his friends made to leave. Hermione took him aside for a moment on the way out, while they waited for Ron to use the toilet.

"Harry..." she started, then paused. "Um. Malfoy's been coming over for almost a month now, hasn't he?"

Uncomfortable with where she might be going, he nodded warily.

"He bought you that parchment on the desk, right? For the letters. So that means he came over just yesterday, after we left."

Harry nodded and his face flushed, again trying not to think about the night before or tingle inappropriately anywhere.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Harry?"

He shook his head vehemently.

Hermione gave him a look. "Well, if there ever is, you know you can talk to me, right?"

He nodded. Ron saved him from whatever Hermione was going to say next by bustling down the stairs.

"Ready to go, then?" he asked, taking her hand.

She smiled at Ron and leaned forward to hug Harry, giving him a kiss on cheek. "I love you very much Harry. I want you to be happy."

Ron gave her a baffled look and glanced at Harry, who kept his expression carefully blank.

"Um, yeah. Right. Thanks for lunch, Harry. See you!" he said, pulling his girlfriend with him with the transparent intention of questioning her the moment they got home.

Harry shut the door behind them with a sinking feeling. Hermione knew something was up. It wouldn't be long until she had it all figured out.

*****

A few days later Harry was roused from his contemplation of the shelves in the library by an insistent pounding at the front door. He flung it open to find one Draco Malfoy, looking like a drowned rat. It was utterly pouring outside and for reasons Harry couldn't imagine, Draco had neither umbrella, nor hat, nor coat, and had apparently also forgotten he was a wizard and could have cast a water-repelling charm on himself or his clothes.

"Well? Are you going to let me in?"

Harry gave him a thoughtful look, staring pointedly at the water pudding around Draco"s feet.

"Fuck off, Potter. Let me in!" he insisted.

Harry sighed and held the door open, stepping back to let him enter.

Draco immediately made for the stairs, calling out over his shoulder, "I'm freezing my bollocks off. I'm using your shower. I hope that's all right, and if it's not, too fucking bad - I don't care."

Harry tried not to laugh as the swearing grew more distant while Draco made his way upstairs, and took a moment to ponder the oddness of Malfoy barging into his house and demanding a bath as if they had been friends forever. Well, they'd _known_ each other forever and he supposed that was something. And it _was_ sort of pleasant that Draco felt so comfortable in his house.

Harry was in the drawing room trying to decide whether tea or whisky would be more appropriate at this time in the afternoon. He'd summoned Kreacher to help clean up the puddles of water in the hall and was having trouble deciding what to do next.

"Can I borrow some clothes?" came from the doorway.

Harry turned, looking up, and almost dropped his wand at the sight he beheld. Draco was naked, apart from a rather small towel held loosely around his waist by one hand. Drops of water slowly trickled from his hair and down his body. A flash of arousal surged through Harry and he wrenched his eyes away from the tempting display with difficulty.

Flicking his wand at the blackboard as if the sight of all that ivory flesh hadn't instantly made him hard, he wrote, " "

Draco gave him a withering glare. "Drying spells leave my hair all wrong and then I have to resort to using something like Sleekeazy's."

" " Harry grinned.

The glare continued. "Do you really want to have a conversation about bad hair, Potter?"

Cringing, Harry shook his head no.

"So, can I borrow some clothes, then? Or should I just lounge around in this towel until mine finish drying?" Draco asked. "Oh, and can you have Kreacher clean them? They're in a heap on the floor of your bath," he added as an afterthought.

With a roll of his eyes, Harry tapped the elf's name, Summoning him again, and let Malfoy make his request. As usual, Kreacher seemed more than happy to do anything he could for "young Master Malfoy."

That done, the two young men traipsed up the stairs to Harry's bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief that he was leading the way, so he didn't have to "not-look" at Draco's towel clad arse all the way up. And then Draco was mostly naked, in his room. Where he'd wanked. Over Draco.

Harry's palms were sweating, his heart was beating hard, and it was taking an unbelievable amount of effort to simply breathe without making any sounds as he started pulling clothes out of the drawers and the wardrobe.

Draco, totally unselfconscious, began drying off.

Harry tried not to stare.

Harry failed.

He failed so spectacularly that Draco noticed – and despite the fact that Harry had obviously broken the strict Boys' Code of Not Staring at Each Other When You're Starkers, Draco's reaction was a surprise. Rather than taking the piss or simply punching him, he gave Harry a grin that probably could have been classified as "seductive", and almost certainly would have been, if seduction had been at all necessary.

"Like what you see?" he said in his familiar, challenging drawl.

Despite making a valiant effort not to, Harry could tell that his entire face had gone red before he turned away, shrugging. This had the double purpose of making it clear that he _wasn't_ looking and making sure that Draco couldn't see the obvious bulge in his jeans.

What was wrong with him? His body had never felt so out of control, not even when he first hit puberty and got hard whenever the wind blew. He tried not to whimper as he caught a sliver of pale skin reflected in the mirror across the room.

Flinging all vestiges of Gryffindorish courage to the wayside, Harry fled from his bedroom to the safety of books, the library, cursed furniture, and other normal things that didn't involve a flirtatious, semi-naked Draco.

Harry was so unsettled that he dropped the armload of books he was carrying from the library to the drawing room when Draco snuck up behind him in the hall a few minutes later.

"I don't exactly mind if you were checking me out," he said in a voice half-teasing and half-serious. "It's not like you'd be the first; I _am_ quite good looking."

Resisting the urge to throw one of the books he was picking up off the floor at Draco, Harry gave him a doubtful look.

"What?" Draco asked. "I'm incredibly gorgeous. Tons of other blokes have checked me out. You're one of the lucky few privileged enough to have seen me _au naturel_."

Harry managed to keep his face from coloring but he couldn't entirely hide his surprise at the ease with which Malfoy alluded to gay men. They went back to the drawing room and Draco Summoned the decanter of scotch and two glasses.

Drinking a healthy swallow, Draco gave him a thoughtful look. "You're not homophobic, are you, Potter? I don't see at all how someone can be so pro-Muggleborns and yet have a problem with gay sex," he said in a challenging tone. "Lots of wizards are gay or bisexual. Even my Great Uncle Asmodeus Malfoy had a male lover. My father might not particularly care for it but most purebloods don't raise too much of a fuss so long as the family line is carried on." Draco made a face, then added in a quieter voice, "I still haven't figured out what I'm going to do about that yet..."

Harry gulped his own glass of the strong liquor, trying not to cough as it burned down to his stomach. He could hardly believe Draco was being so nonchalant about the topic. Well, if it wasn't a big deal to him, then maybe Harry should just ask.

"I don't really like to limit myself," Draco answered with a bit of a smirk. "Wizards, witches, whatever. Hardly anyone is good enough for me as it is – I'd hate to eliminate half my possibilities just based on gender," he said in a mocking tone.

Harry made a face at him and sipped his scotch again, grateful for its calming properties. His heart was still hammering away inside his chest but he didn't think he was blushing anymore.

At least he wasn't until Draco flopped down onto the sofa in a languid sprawl and asked with a bit of a smile, "So what about you then? Aren't you still with the Weaslette?"

Harry scowled but then ruined it by sitting down right next to Draco and refilling both of their glasses.

"Well? That was quite a lascivious look upstairs for someone still with a girlfriend. Doesn't she put out?" he taunted.

Harry shoved him a bit. " " he wrote with a flick of his wand.

"Ah ha. So you do bat for the other team then, eh?" Draco said, sliding closer to Harry with a leer.

Harry choked on his drink in surprise and spent the next few minutes coughing.

Draco laughed at him. "I kind of figured you were queer, since you never really seemed to date anyone other than Weasley's little sister. Seemed pretty obvious that she was just a substitute for dating the Weasel himself, since he's so obviously smitten with Granger."

Harry's eyes widened. " "

"Well then, have you managed to get laid yet?" Draco asked, still chuckling at Harry's vehement response.

Flustered by the audaciously bold questions, Harry could feel his face flushing again as he shook his head no. He took a fortifying swallow of scotch and wrote, ""

Draco shrugged. "Well, I _did_ have a girlfriend for most of school, you know. I was with Pansy forever and she assumed we were going to get married, so of course I did everything she'd let me. Not quite _everything_ , but we did some stuff until, uh, I got a bit too busy to pay attention to her in 6th year," he said, fumbling a bit. He and Harry never really discussed their past, by mutual unspoken agreement.

"Anyway, that year, when I was too busy for her, I messed about with a friend a few times to see what it was like with boys." Draco shrugged again. "It was good. He was much better at some things than Pansy was."

Harry wanted to ask to ask _how_ good it was, and who this unnamed boy was, and what he was better at doing than Pansy had been, but he was too embarrassed to write those questions on the blackboard. He took another sip of his drink and tried to let the liquor soothe his jumbled thoughts.

They sat in silence, staring off into space for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, surprisingly.

"I should be going," Draco said after a while. "Kreacher?" he called.

The elf popped into the drawing room, arms already laden with Malfoy's clothes, now clean and dry. Taking the bundle into his arms, Draco told Harry he would return the clothes he was wearing next time he came over.

Harry nodded his agreement and they headed out toward the staircase.

"I see you haven't touched that box of parchment yet," Draco observed, stopping at the desk near the door. "What's the matter; you don't like pheasant feather quills?"

Harry gave him an apologetic look, feeling a bit guilty. He'd meant to start writing but every time he thought about it he decided to work on the hexes and curses for the house instead.

Draco's look was understanding, even a bit sympathetic. "Give it a try," he urged. "What can it hurt? If it doest work you don't have to do it; it's not a homework assignment."

Fair point, Harry thought. He nodded, resolving to try it later, perhaps that very evening.

When they reached the Floo, Draco stumbled a bit and caught himself by grabbing onto Harry. He hadn't thought Draco was quite _that_ pissed, but it felt rather nice to be touched all the same.

Very nice.

The hand on his shoulder gave a little squeeze. "And now I must take my leave," he said in a very formal and pompous tone that made Harry grin.

He waved farewell and Draco grinned back for a moment, then threw a handful of powder onto the fire and left for his Manor. Harry wandered back to the drawing room and finished his glass of scotch, staring into the fireplace and thinking about it all.

It had been a very strange day.

But a good one, Harry decided. He'd had a conversation about being gay. He'd seen Draco naked. He'd learned Draco sometimes messed around with other boys.

A very good day, indeed.

*****

Writing letters to the dead was more of a challenge that Harry had anticipated. He had a few false starts, then finally decided to begin with a letter to Sirius, since he'd at least had some experience corresponding with Padfoot before.

He went through several sheets of parchment just trying to get started; every time he got going he seemed to get angry and start writing about how frustrated he had been (and evidently still was) that Sirius had behaved so recklessly. It was so difficult to get past it that finally Harry just left a long rant about Sirius' impulsiveness and how getting killed was practically his own bloody fault anyway, before he could get to the bits about how much he missed his godfather.

He wrote for a long time, filling up several sheets, and added to it over the course of the day between other tasks. He wrote that it felt odd, living in Sirius' house without him. That he wished he'd been able to know his godfather better. That he wished Sirius' life had turned out differently, and that it wasn't fair that it had been so twisted and stunted by Voldemort and Azkaban and so many events out of Sirius' control.

It was a gut-wrenching letter to write and Harry felt exhausted and drained by the time he finished it, his eyes still a bit moist at the corners.

But he did feel a bit better. He'd ranted and raved and accused and apologized for forgetting about the two-way mirror and finally, at the end, told Sirius how much he missed him. That he was the only father Harry had really ever had. That he'd loved him.

After a few days' break, he tackled the letters to Tonks and Moody and Colin Creevey, and got all three of those finished in the same day, as they were fairly short goodbyes. By the end of the week he'd also written Remus' letter, which had been about as difficult as he'd anticipated it would be, and left him feeling miserable for the better part of two days. Hermione came by to oh-so-helpfully assure him that this was a normal response and he just barely managed to refrain from hexing her. Just because it was " _normal_ " didn't make it hurt any bloody bit less.

His friends did their best to cheer him up, which was equal parts thoughtful and annoying. He had a flux of visitors again and his evenings were rarely free. The twins even stopped by for supper and an offer to Harry to become their Quality Control Officer, which he declined once he'd sussed that they meant "paid guinea pig."

They also flirted with him a bit more and this time Fred actually _did_ sneak a grope in, just before the twins left. Harry's body responded favorably but not with the same blinding-hot flash of lust that just sitting next to Draco had produced. Although he avoided thinking about _that_ aspect, he did spend some time getting used to the idea that he might be queer or at the very least bisexual.

It wasn't as disturbing a thought as it would have been a couple of months ago.

*****

After an absence of over a week, Harry was greeted at breakfast by Tiberius, with a note from Draco. His mother's trial had gone favorably, he said, and suggested a celebratory dinner out if Harry would join him.

Harry replied that he'd like to, but he couldn't visualize Draco in a Muggle restaurant and he didn't want to go to any Wizarding ones because he'd be recognized and harassed. Draco sent Tiberius back with a note saying he knew the perfect place and to trust him. Harry smiled a bit wryly to himself before writing his reply and agreeing to let Draco Floo over to Grimmmauld Place and they could Apparate together from there.

At eight o'clock on the dot, Draco stepped through the Floo. Harry was glad of the training that the Silence Resolution had given him, as it kept him from whimpering aloud. Draco was wearing relatively normal clothes: dark trousers, a pale shirt, and very nice robes which were cut almost like a frock-coat. They looked like something Professor Snape might have worn but clung to Draco's torso _and_ exposed his long legs in a way that made Harry drool.

Feeling very under-dressed in his usual robes, Harry allowed himself to be Side-Alonged to a small Wizarding restaurant in Lacock, in Wiltshire.

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's skeptical look at the ornate doorway and crowd of diners inside. "My family comes here all the time, Potter. They're very discreet."

Harry allowed himself to be escorted inside and they were shown to a table in a small alcove. None of the staff or patrons took much notice of them but Harry still didn't relax until after he'd cast a nonverbal Muffliato.

Ordering food and drink proved to be rather difficult and involved a lot of pointing and gesturing on Harry's part, until finally the waiter brought over a notepad and pencil for him. He was kind enough to leave it and Harry felt like a bit of an idiot for not thinking of that option and bringing one with him in the first place.

Draco smirked at him over a glass of wine. "Still not talking, eh? How long do you plan to keep this up?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't actually thought about that at all, which he wrote on the notepad.

"You're such a freak," Draco laughed. "Although it's sort of fun being with someone who can't say anything back. I've noticed we argue a lot less now you have to keep your mouth shut."

Harry glared.

"Of course the mouth shut thing _is_ a bit of a downer in some ways," Draco winked. "Still, it's not like I'd need you to talk in order to ravish you senseless."

After almost knocking over his glass of wine, Harry brought it to his lips with visibly shaking hands while Draco laughed quietly.

The arrival of their food saved him from having to make eye contact for a few moments and he was eternally grateful to whatever Higher Powers There Might Be for that diversion.

Did Draco _want_ to ravish him? He was flirting, but was it just teasing or did he mean it? It was totally obvious he was taking the piss, but... How on earth was Harry supposed to be able to tell the difference? And what was he supposed to _do_?

Flustered, he finally looked up at Draco, only to see him licking his fork in a manner that could only be described as lewd. There was no way there was _that_ much sauce stuck to the tines, Harry thought, trying to find logical reasons for Malfoy to be behaving like this while simultaneously ignoring the way his cock was pushing up the napkin in his lap.

In a desperate plea for sanity, Harry took the notepad and wrote, ""

Draco made a face. "They're fine, Potter. My parents are fine. A bit preoccupied, but I suppose that's to be expected when their entire lives have been upturned and we're still not sure if my father is going to be sent to Azkaban." He scowled at his food, clearly upset. It was equally clear that Draco didn't want to talk about what was going on at home and Harry was happy to change the topic.

He wrote some nonsense asking about what team was Draco following in Quidditch and how were they doing presently. Relieved, Draco took up the new conversational thread and Harry allowed his earlier question to be deflected. It seemed that life at Malfoy Manor was pretty grim these days; he supposed it made sense then that Draco was spending so much time at Grimmauld Place with him.

The rest of their dinner went smoothly. They discussed Quidditch, Draco pontificating at length about each team in the league and what he thought of them. It turned out he was a Caerphilly Catapults supporter and they had a lively conversation about their new Keeper, a former Ravenclaw, Grant Page.

There was a bit of a squabble when Draco tried to pick up the check but in the end Harry let him. As Draco said, he'd been eating at Harry's all this time so it was only fair repayment of his hospitality.

Another awkward moment presented itself when it was time to leave. It being fairly late, Malfoy reluctantly noted that he ought to be getting home before his mother called the Aurors to go looking for him. Yet Draco just stood there looking at Harry, until he got out his notepad again.

"" he wrote, feeling like the world's biggest twat as he ripped off the sheet and passed it over.

With a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, Draco took Harry's hand and bowed over it formally, replying, "I had a lovely time as well," before kissing the back of his hand like some prince in a fairy tale.

Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. His heart was pounding, his body was frozen, and his brain wouldn't let go of the fact that _Malfoy_ had just _kissed_ his hand.

With his _lips_.

He blinked, coming back to reality a bit at the sound of Draco's uncontrolled laughter.

"Later, Potter," he said, and gave Harry a light punch on the arm. He turned and Disapparated, leaving a still-stunned Harry standing alone in the road, with an erection.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Harry saw Draco, just a few nights later, he did a double-take. Yes, what his eyes were telling him was true; Malfoy's hair, rather than its usual white-blond, was for some reason a very pale blue. Almost icy, Harry reflected, thinking that it was a very cool color and that it went well with Draco's complexion and eyes.

After staring for a few moments and blinking, Harry swirled his wand and wrote the obvious question on the blackboard.

The look Draco gave him was an interesting combination of embarrassment and annoyance, but he seemed a bit pleased, too. He shrugged his shoulders, saying, "I wasn't sure if it was actually visible to anyone but me and my mirror."

Harry gave him a puzzled look.

"No one at home noticed," Draco said with a casual air.

Harry pondered this for a few moments, his brow furrowing. Draco had done a pretty good job of deflecting the conversation every time it turned to anything having to do with his parents. He was spending an extraordinary amount of time hanging out with Harry, aside from that one week of his mother's trial. Which, despite the fact that Draco obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice and enjoyed being around someone who was utterly silent all the time, was still a bit odd – particularly the fact that he would choose to spend time with the one boy he'd had the most murderous relationship with at school. (Although Harry was willing to concede that this position might actually have been held by Ron, but that was beside the point.)

Giving Draco a penetrating look, Harry flicked his wand again. ""

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you want me to talk to _you_ about my parents, you're going to have to get me pissed first, Potter. Didn't anyone ever teach you the rules of social interaction?"

Shrugging, Harry Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses and sat on the sofa, looking pointedly at the other end of it until Draco sat down.

"They're busy," Draco said, taking a drink and then refilling his glass.

Harry made a face.

"They're busy with their trials! Everything in their lives has completely changed. They've been supporters of the Dark Lord since before I was born and it's finally bitten them on the arse," he replied in an exasperated tone.

Harry shrugged again.

"I know you have no sympathy, Potter," Draco said angrily. "But they're my parents and this is a difficult time for them. We don't know if my father is going to prison for life or being Kissed or what." He downed another large swallow and continued in a voice growing more and more agitated. "We could lose every Knut in the family vaults as war reparations; we could even lose the Manor itself!" He took a deep breath, looking across the room at the tapestry on the wall. "My mother and I could be totally penniless and what kind of job could I even get anyway, since I didn't take my NEWTS? Not that anyone would hire me, no matter that the bloody Wizengamot cleared me!"

Draco took a deep breath as he struggled to regain his usual composure. Harry looked away, giving him some time to recover, and refilled both glasses.

Draco took another healthy sip and continued more quietly. "They have a lot on their minds and they don't have time for me. It's understandable," he said, but the way his jaw clenched and eyes blinked hard, Harry could tell that it really wasn't all right at all.

He flicked his wand and wrote ""

"Talk to their solicitors," Draco said with a snort, peering into his whisky as if it held the answers. "Mope. They're traumatized, I suppose. They picked the losing side. Everything my father has worked for his entire life is gone. And I don't just mean the stupid plans for the Dark Lord either," he said, glancing up at Harry. "I mean our _name_. The Malfoy name used to inspire fear and respect. Now people practically spit on me in the street and shopkeepers stare right through me," he said in a forlorn voice. "Everyone looks right through me as if they wish I wasn't there and would just go away. Even at home."

Well, that made sense, Harry supposed. Draco wasn't ignored _here_ at any rate. When he was at Grimmauld Place, he got to talk as much as he wanted and Harry listened. It made sense that Draco would seek that out.

"" Harry wrote.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know that there _is_ anything I can do, at least until we find out what's going to happen to Father. I know you'd like to see him dead, Harry, but he is my father."

Harry shrugged. He _did_ rather want Lucius to suffer for his crimes, but he'd never thought about how that would affect Draco for the rest of his life. He didn't quite know what to think, now.

"," he wrote on the blackboard. There was an uncomfortable pause, so Harry added, casting about for a slight change of topic, ""

Draco made a face and took another drink. "Well, I certainly don't want to work for the Ministry, even if they'd have me. And I'm far too pretty to sit behind a desk, besides," he said with an attempt at his usual teasing tone.

Harry smiled a bit and, surprising even himself with his flirtatiousness, he raised his glass to toast the truth of Draco's statement.

Clearly taken aback, Draco raised his glass back and they both drank, smiling at each other for a moment.

"What about you, Potter, what are you going to do?" he asked.

Harry gave him a blank look.

"Well, you've apparently decided not to become an Auror. And despite the fact that your friend Kingsley is the temporary Minister, you don't seem very interested in dealing with the Ministry or the Wizarding world."

Harry shrugged.

"Well then, what? You can't do this forever can you?" Draco pressed.

"," appeared on the board.

"Well then. You going to play Quidditch? Be the youngest Minister of Magic in history? I know you're not going to become a potions master... Speaking of which," Draco said with a shrewd look, "How are your letters going?"

Harry looked away, thinking for a moment before he wrote. ""

"So who's left?"

"" He didn't want to admit that he was also intending to write letters to a house elf and an owl, just in case Draco made fun of him.

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I suppose those are probably the hardest ones... I ought to write one to Dumbledore, too... I think you should do Snape next," he suggested.

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, drinking and staring at the fire. Despite the rather emotionally-charged conversation, Draco seemed more relaxed than he had been in ages. Of course Harry realized it might be because of the sizeable quantity of Firewhisky they'd consumed, but he rather thought that talking about what was happening at home had been a bit of a relief for Draco.

As he left for the evening he surprised Harry in the kitchen once again. After saying "Good night," he also added, "Thanks, Harry."

What was more surprising, though, was that Draco reached out one hand and for a moment it seemed as if he was about to touch Harry's face. His thumb hovered over Harry's jaw for a moment, long enough to feel the heat from his hand. But then he dropped it and grasped Harry by the shoulder and gave a brief squeeze instead, with a mysterious sort of half-smile that made Harry shiver.

Without another word, Draco turned and stepped into the Floo, leaving Harry with the odd sensation that he'd just imagined the whole thing.

They _were_ both a bit drunk.

Still, that didn't explain the goose-pimples all over his body or the quivering feeling inside his chest...

*****

The next morning Tiberius arrived with a note, and when he sent his reply back saying that it was fine for Draco to join him after supper again, Glaucus pecked at Harry in a pouting manner very reminiscent of Hedwig's behavior in similar situations. He realized he hadn't been sending his owl out very often anymore, so just to make the bird happy, he scribbled a quick note to Ron and Hermione, inviting them over.

As he was already writing notes, he thought maybe he would tackle his letter to Snape. After over a quarter of an hour staring at empty parchment marred only by a few drips of ink, however, he decided to write to Hedwig instead.

Harry finished up the letter in short order, sealed it, and reached for the Snape parchment again.

After another quarter of an hour passed with nothing to show for it but three more ink blots, he gave up. Throwing down his pen, he fled the letter for the relative comfort of the library and its murderous books.

The better part of that day was occupied with research that might shed some light on what the fuck was happening in the dining room and how Harry could deal with it before getting strangled, stabbed, or bludgeoned to death. He toyed with the idea of just wandering into the dining room and letting the furniture and cutlery do what they would to him, so he could just _tell_ Snape what he thought of him in the Afterlife, but dismissed the idea as overly melodramatic. Besides, Snape would probably kill him, since he'd suffered so much and finally died trying to save Harry's life.

Well, except they'd both already be dead, and you couldn't get _more_ dead, could you? Harry didn't think so, but with wizards you never knew.

Although he kept going back and forth between tasks, and despite the fact that this method had worked previously, he had still made very little progress by nightfall. He finished a small portion of his supper and decided that afters would consist of a glass of Draco's scotch and finishing that thrice-damned letter. He sat down at his desk, grim determination blending nicely with the flavor of the liquor in his mouth.

A warm hand on Harry's shoulder startled him some time later. His vision swam as he lifted his head from where it rested on his arm. He had no idea how long he'd sat there, lost in thoughts of Snape's memories, of his own memories of the man, overwhelmed by the way frustration, anger, and even hatred had combined with compassion and understanding. Rather than canceling the negative ones out, the more positive feelings simply coexisted beside them, and the resulting mess (aided with a good dose of liquor) had Harry well past maudlin and almost into weepy.

He'd still only managed a few lines, after a day of trying. And now he was thoroughly pissed and practically crying and Draco, of all people, was there to witness it.

Harry groaned and let his head fall back to the table.

The hand squeezed his shoulder again as Draco shuffled closer. "He wasn't a very nice man. It's hard to know what to write," he said, in a voice that sounded rather rough.

Sniffling a bit, Harry sat up, glanced at his friend, then at the mostly empty parchment. Aside from the ink blots, it was an interesting combination of abuse and demands for answers and apologies. But there at the end were just lines and lines and lines of "" written over and over again.

Draco Summoned another glass and poured himself a measure. Taking Harry's hand, he pulled the other boy upright and pushed him towards the sofa while he retrieved Harry's glass. Once he'd got them both situated, scotch in hand and the bottle nearby, he raised his glass in a toast, saying, "Drink to the dead with me, Harry."

They did. They finished the rest of the bottle without much in the way of conversation, aside from an occasional name. There was no commentary from either of them, just a salute and swallow of burning spirits.

Harry had no sense of how much time had passed when Draco decided to put him to bed. The wee bit of him that was sober was embarrassed at the way his body practically collapsed into Draco's arms. Warm, strong arms though, Harry noticed, and allowed himself to burrow into them a bit more than was strictly necessary as the two of them fumbled and tripped their way up the stairs.

After that everything got very blurry. Minty flavor from a tooth-cleaning charm, awkward hands pulling at his clothes, soft flannel sheets, and a bed that was much warmer than usual. Harry's eyes were closed long before his head hit the pillow and he was asleep in seconds.

*****

Harry woke the next morning to the unprecedented feeling of someone's arm wrapped around him. It was the warmth, really, that woke him – the bed felt like it was roasting and it took his fuzzy brain a few minutes to work out that it was likely because of the body pressed up against him.

It felt quite nice, being held like that. Comforting. Good. It wasn't long, though, before Harry noticed just _how_ good it felt, particularly to parts south. His usual morning wood was beginning to throb insistently and he started to panic in fear of Draco waking up and catching him out.

A sudden commotion and the sound of hallway floorboards squeaking quickly deflated the problem. Before Harry could do anything more than sit up and reach for his wand, Mrs. Weasley burst into the room, shouting.

"Harry James Potter! Get out of bed this instant, young man! I have absolutely had it with you and this Silence thing. I have been Flooing you all morning with no answer at all, not even an owl. You could have fallen down in the bathroom and cracked your skull open and died!"

It was never good when she started off with your full name. Harry grabbed his glasses and put them on, trying to be subtle about reaching under the covers to make sure he was wearing pants at least, as he was apparently topless. Next to him, Draco groaned and grabbed Harry's abandoned pillow to put over his head to muffle the sound.

"Um, I was just having a bit of a lie in," Harry said weakly. His voice was small and his throat felt rough from disuse. Which wasn't surprising, as he realized that it was the first time he'd spoken in nearly two months.

" _With_ someone, I see," she tutted.

Harry coughed, unable to get the scratchy feeling out of his throat and gave her an apologetic look. He got out of the bed and pulled the covers up around Draco without thinking about it before he started looking around for his clothes.

"I want you downstairs and in the kitchen right away, Harry," she scowled, turning to leave. "Five minutes!" she added, before closing the bedroom door rather more loudly than was needed.

There was a tired snicker from the bed. "Why didn't you set the wards?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned and grabbed his wand. With a swirling slashing motion, he Transfigured most of the mirror over his armoire into a blackboard and flicked his answer there with another nonverbal spell. ""

Draco gave him a pouty, hurt look. "Oh, you'll talk to her but not to me? Prat."

Harry shrugged, feeling equally bad about his lapse as he did about unintentionally slighting Draco. His attention was diverted from an apology by the sight of Draco throwing back the covers and getting out of the bed, wearing only boxer shorts. Like Harry had been. Which made him realize that Draco had undressed him.

Flushing, Harry turned away, pulling his jeans on.

"Don't know why you set them to let that redheaded shrew in, though," Draco groused, pulling on a t-shirt.

"," Harry wrote, shrugging. "" He was feeling a little torn, both wanting to defend Ron's mum but also feeling pretty grouchy with her for disturbing what might have been a really excellent morning.

There was a slight pause while Draco bit his lip and looked uncomfortable, thinking about the final battle. "I'm sorry you were all alone there, at the end," he said.

Harry's mouth quirked up at the corners. ""

Draco looked puzzled and it was clear he was going to ask a question Harry didn't want to answer but luckily they were interrupted by a furious shout from what sounded like the stairwell: "Don't make me come back up there!"

Harry quickly pulled on the rest of his clothes, trying not to be embarrassed as Draco lounged back against the pillows again and watched, leering. Harry was completely flustered by the time he had his socks on and barely managed to get his shoes tied without knotting his fingers into the laces.

He dashed off to the loo with a mental apology to Mrs. Weasley, then thumped down the stairs to the kitchen to be berated.

He was withstanding the shouted lecture pretty well, making appropriately apologetic faces at the right moments for being unresponsive to the Floo, for breaking up with Ginny, for making Molly worry, and for having "some blonde tart in his bed."

That was when Draco decided to pop his head into the kitchen and get involved.

The situation rapidly escalated, with Draco yelling that he wasn't a tart and Mrs. Weasley yelling that no, he was a _Malfoy_ , as if it was some sort of a disease, and what did Harry think he was doing anyway? From there it turned into ugly name calling about impoverished shrew-like redheads and inbred evil Purebloods. Everyone's ancestry was called into the fray and Harry finally thought to Summon both their wands before it got too nasty.

Frankly, Harry was a bit impressed that Molly seemed to have won the argument. He'd seen her angry lots of times but he hadn't seen her so full of fury and rage since the time she'd dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry wasn't sure if it was still that lioness sort of wrath, protecting her young (and Harry didn't know if that was Ginny or himself in this particular argument), but it certainly seemed cathartic for her to get some of it out of her system by shouting at Draco. Who definitely gave back as good as he got, with all of that nastiness Harry had mostly forgotten he was so very capable of.

Seeming to call it a draw, both of them withdrew from the kitchen battleground, Draco slamming the door into the hall and Molly Flooing back to the Burrow with one last glare at Harry as she snatched her wand back from him.

Blinking a bit in the abrupt stillness, Harry Summoned a bottle of Pepper-Up and made a pot of tea. After drinking his own dose and feeling much _much_ better now that his head wasn't pounding, he levitated a tray along with him to the drawing room. As expected, Draco was hovering by the fireplace, clenching a fistful of Floo powder and scowling like a world-class champion.

He set the tea down and held out the potion as a peace offering. Still surly, Draco took it and downed his measure without a word.

"See how she treats me? Just like everyone else!" he fumed.

Harry nodded. He felt bad but he couldn't change how people thought of the Malfoys. Particularly the Weasleys, with whom they had always had an active feud.

Harry looked pointedly at Draco's fistful of Floo powder. "" he wrote on the blackboard.

Draco threw the powder down onto the hearth and ranted and raved for a few more minutes. Finally, after insulting every member of the Weasley family he could think of while Harry gritted his teeth and tried to be patient, he took a deep breath and collapsed into a chair. "I don't know. I guess so. It's better than being at home."

Harry furrowed his brow, giving him a puzzled but sympathetic look.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it's not _you_ I want to eviscerate, after all."

Harry offered him a half-smile. ""

"No, I love being woken up by shrieking women calling me a whore, you arsehole."

He laughed. ""

"Well..." Draco smirked. " _Some_ parts were pretty good. At least, they had the potential to be." He gave Harry a flirtatious look, his mood seeming to improve as he embarrassed Harry. "Did you like waking up with me? The way our bodies were all wrapped around each other?" he teased.

Harry shivered, trying not to turn red. ""

Draco's eyes sparkled and he looked more pleased with himself than Harry could remember in recent history. His own insides felt a bit jumpy, nervous but happy too, like when he was first learning to fly.

They flirted more over breakfast, Draco making comments that were more and more lewd while Harry mostly just nodded his responses and tried not to act like the blushing virgin he was. Finally it was time for Draco to leave, saying it was well past the hour he'd said he would be home, as it was past noon. Harry desperately needed a shower and ignored Draco's tease that he'd need a wank too, most likely. He shoved the blond into the Floo and went upstairs, still chuckling.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry's day took another drastic turn downwards, as if it hadn't been rollercoaster-like enough already. Hermione and Rom came over for dinner and, unfortunately, Harry had forgotten to erase the blackboard in the drawing room. Again.

He stood frozen while his friends read the suggestive banter from earlier in the morning, particularly the bits about sharing a bed. As if in slow motion, he watched Ron's face go from its normal color, to sickly pale, then to enraged red. Harry braced himself for a battle.

Ron turned around, wand in hand and fury on his face. "You're fucking Malfoy?"

Holding up both hands, Harry shook his head negative.

"And why should I believe you? You've been lying about Malfoy from the fucking beginning! You always keep secrets from everyone – I knew there must be something going on if he was coming around so often. He's got you hexed or something, doesn't he? What did he use, Imperius? I knew you should never have given him back his wand," Ron said, pointing his own at Harry. "Finite Incatatem!"

Harry stumbled a little with the force of the spell, but as there was nothing for it to remove, nothing happened. He wanted to write something on the blackboard but was afraid to draw his own wand, knowing from many years of experience that Ron wasn't finished lashing out quite yet.

He took a step closer, never letting his eyes leave Ron, hoping to go for the chalk.

"Ron, calm down!" Hermione scolded, her voice betraying more than just a hint of anxiety. "Harry's fine. And if he's with Draco Malfoy, well, that's his business. His sex life is none of your concern."

Harry scowled. Did she think he was with Draco, too? What, did _everyone_ think he was an enormous slag, then?

"It is if that sadistic ponce has Harry convinced he likes it up the arse!" Ron yelled.

That did it. Harry's wand was in his hand before Ron could react, but instead of hexing his friend with something painful, he wrote ""

Ron's nervous expression shifted back into an angry one. "Oh, so you prefer to give it to him then, do you? I always knew there was something fishy about you breaking up with Ginny! So how many blokes _have_ you fucked, Harry?" he spat.

Harry really _really_ wanted to punch him. Beat him with his fists until Ron's face was red from blood, not fury. Break that long pointy nose so that it would be as crooked as Dumbledore's had been.

But Ron was bigger than him, had longer arms, and a lot more practice fending off his older brothers. So Harry took a deep breath and wrote ""

"Oh please," Ron sneered. "You expect me to believe that? Savior of the Wizarding World and you can't get laid? You must've had dozens of both sexes, if you've taken up with Malfoy for some excitement!"

If Harry could have set Ron on fire with a look, he would have. In fact he tried, but couldn't quite remember the spell. Which was probably a good thing, as Hermione's hand grabbed his arm and broke his furious gaze at his best friend.

"Stop this! Both of you, right now!" she ordered, but neither young man was listening.

When Harry turned back to Ron his friend had his wand leveled at Harry's chest and a maniacal look in his eyes. "Well, there's one way to tell if you're lying to us about _that_ ," he sneered. "Sanctus Revelio!"

A blinding blue light hit Harry as the spell slammed into his chest. A burning feeling seemed to mingle with all of the blood in his veins, particularly in his crotch. He screamed as his balls felt like they were exploding, bursting into flame, and he clawed at himself, mindlessly trying to stop the agony. He could hear voices, Hermione and Ron, angry and worried, but he couldn't tell if they were yelling at each other or at him.

An icy burst of water hit him between the legs, which managed to stop him from frantically shredding his own skin while he howled in pain. The abrupt change from burning to freezing temperatures was too much of a shock to his system. Harry lost consciousness as his fingers stilled and he felt himself being levitated.

*****

Harry came to in a room that smelled like one of his least favorite places: the infirmary. However upon opening his eyes, he saw not the familiar face of Madam Pomfrey but a nervous looking young man in the lime green Healer's robes of St. Mungo's.

He groaned. The familiar shaped-blobs of both Hermione and Ron swam into his line of sight and the fuzzy-headed one moved closer, slipping Harry's glasses back onto his face. The world came back into focus.

"Oh Harry. Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment. Nothing hurt _too_ much, if he ignored the fact that overall he felt like he'd been trampled by a herd of centaurs. He nodded and mimed for a pen and paper.

"" he wrote, after his friend fished what he needed out of her purse and handed it to him. A flash of green distracted him for a moment, as the Assistant Healer left the room with an anxious look on his face.

Hermione's expression tightened. "This bloody idiot," she said, glaring across the room at Ron, who was keeping a wary distance from Harry's bed, "hexed you with Sanctus Revelio, an old spell designed to reveal or test the object's virginity. It's not Dark exactly but it's certainly not a very nice spell. There's a reason no one uses it anymore aside from 'just' sexism and social progress!" she said, turning to Ron with barely controlled anger.

"Apparently Ron found it in one of the books from the Black library," she continued, "and _failed_ to read the finer details or think about what they might mean. It's a spell that would technically be all right and not cause any harm to the 'untouched,' but it's so old and outdated that just kissing means you've been 'touched.' Masturbation probably counts, too," she said, flushing slightly but trying not to show it. "Which is why the spell implemented its secondary punishing characteristics and, erm. Well, caused you quite a lot of pain in your personal areas."

Harry took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he tried to stay in control of himself.

Hermione cleared her throat, attempting to regain her usual no-nonsense tone of voice. "You'd really hurt your, um, self, with so much clawing with your fingernails. I healed you as best I could once I got an ice water jet to cool you down and you passed out, but I wasn't sure what the counter-hex was and if you were really all right or not, so we brought you here. I didn't think you'd want to risk your bits on my amateur medical knowledge."

He looked away from Hermione, face nearly purple with embarrassment. She'd seen him _naked_ , probably even touched him. His cock and balls, to be specific. He was going to die of humiliation.

But he was going to kill Ron first, as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Seriously this time.

The return of the Assistant with a woman who exuded the distinct air of being the Head Healer distracted him. "Wellington here tells me you aren't speaking," the woman said in a stern voice. "Were there other spells used that we were not informed of?" she asked, glaring at Hermione.

Harry rolled his eyes and scribbled "" on the notepad.

"A what?" the Healer asked.

Harry sighed and gave Hermione a pointed look.

"He's decided not to talk anymore, for a while," she said. "It's personal," she added when the Healer opened her mouth to speak again.

With a world-weary sigh, the Healer turned back to her Assistant. "You couldn't have just _asked_ them, Wellington?" She rubbed her temples for a moment before turning back to the bed. "Fine, Mr. Potter. Whatever you've chosen to do, ludicrous as it may be, is your choice. If you are in no further discomfort, we will run some final diagnostics and get you ready to be discharged."

Harry nodded his agreement and she began waving her wand in complicated spirals, murmuring under her breath. She was finished in short order and he was being given back his clothes. After filling in some tedious paperwork he was released and ready to go home, preparing to Floo from the reception area.

Hermione gave him a hug. "I'm sorry Ron's such an utter git sometimes," she said, not bothering to lower her voice at all despite Ron standing only a few feet away. He was pointedly not looking at either of them. Which was just fine with Harry; he'd probably hex the freckles right off of Ron if he so much as looked his way.

There was going to have to be some serious groveling before Harry forgave him this time.

*****

The next day brought a flurry of owls and Floo-calls. Evidently the public had found out about Harry's Silence Resolution and everyone wanted to know what was going on and why. It seemed that someone at St. Mungo's had mentioned it to someone who had told someone else and word had spread. So much for patient confidentiality, he thought wryly.

Hermione had been right though; the whole thing had grown beyond Harry just wanting to avoid the Ministry and the Press. He wanted to be left _alone_ , by everyone possible. He hadn't even gone out of his house in over a month except for the short trip to the hospital and one dinner at a tiny little restaurant in the middle of nowhere, and now he was being inundated by owls! That morning's _Prophet_ was full of speculation and theories about what had happened to Harry, why he'd taken the Vow of Silence, whether he'd gone mad, if it was a protest against the way the Ministry was being reorganized, if he'd been hexed with a Silencing Curse, or (Harry's personal favorite) whether the whole thing was a publicity stunt because he was offended by the decreased number of celebratory events being held in his honor.

That one had given him a headache, he'd laughed so hard.

No, the Wizarding world had entirely missed the point yet again. He was _not_ going to break his Silence Resolution, not even to write a few replies to the various magazines and newspapers which had asked for a written interview. No, his Resolution had become "a poignant statement about the futility of words," as Draco said in a mocking tone when he stopped by for a visit later that day.

Together he and Draco finally managed to subdue the upstairs rug, although they couldn't manage to fix the burned and unraveled spots from their previous battles with it. Still, it was nice to be done, not to mention to know that he could get up in the middle of the night for a pee and not have to take his wand. At least not to defend himself from the rug.

They had made some progress on ideas for the dining room as well, aided by more stick figure illustrations from Harry, and even some additions from Draco. After much arguing (not to mention shared laughter over each other's horrific lack of artistic talents), they agreed upon a joint plan of attack and started practicing the spells they planned to use. Draco even suggested something Harry had never considered before: an exit strategy, a way to get the fuck out of the dining room if things got out of hand. Harry was bemused by Draco's exasperation and enjoyed the irritated sparkle in the grey eyes while he played dumb.

Not to mention the tingle when Draco looked at him like that, half annoyed and half amused.

He really _was_ quite pretty.

*****

A few more days of incessant owl post passed before life went back to normal. With no reaction from the Tragically Disturbed Savior, the Press eventually stopped pestering him for interviews. Hermione came by and responded on his behalf to the inquiries from the Ministry and a few close friends who were concerned on his behalf, and tried to apologize for Ron's behavior but Harry was having none of it. The deep scratches on his thighs and stomach may have been healed but the fact that Ron didn't trust him was a rift that would need some time.

Not to mention groveling.

Which left Harry free for his letters to the dead again, in between hex-breaking sessions that were going faster and faster, now that the House seemed to be recognizing Harry as its Master. The letters, conversely, were getting more and more difficult.

He finished the one to Snape at last, going through several drafts until he managed to verbalize his confusion and anger and compassion and sorrow adequately. After that, Dumbledore's was a snap; Harry had no problem writing down all the things he was angry with his former Headmaster about.

It was actually quite cathartic, as Hermione had said it would be, and forced Harry to confront and then release all the anger he had been carrying with him for so many years. He felt like he'd been manipulated his whole life, as if he was just a character in a story rather than a real person, and that Dumbledore was the primary author. While he knew that wasn't entirely fair, it felt good to write it down, allow himself to be petty, and finally release the anger that had soured his memories of the old man.

After all, Albus had been only human. And it was all Voldemort's fault, anyway. Well, Voldemort and the Dursleys. Luckily they weren't dead yet, as far as Harry knew, so he didn't have to forgive _them_.

The thought of his so-called family brought to mind his actual parents, but once he addressed the letter to his mum and dad he had no idea what to say, so he moved on to Dobby's letter. As it had at the house-elf's grave, just thinking of Dobby made Harry fall apart. Much as he tried, that was the one death that he felt the most responsibility for, and felt the most guilt over not having been a better friend to the elf while he was alive.

Once again Draco arrived in the evening to find Harry silently weeping at his desk. This time there was a lot less alcohol involved and a lot more embarrassment on Harry's part at being caught sniveling.

Draco, however, didn't say a word about it, just Summoned Kreacher to fetch a glass of water and went himself to find a wet flannel for Harry to wash his face. Harry appreciated both but most especially the moment alone to try and compose himself before his friend returned.

"Difficult letter?" Draco asked, once Harry had cleaned up and drank most of the water.

Harry nodded, still avoiding eye contact in his awkwardness.

"How many more do you have left?"

"," he wrote.

Draco nodded. "So you're almost finished then." He rubbed his hands together, not looking at Harry, then took a deep breath. "You know, Harry, you're allowed to fall apart a bit. I'm sure this has been difficult for you. It was for me and I only had three letters to write. You don't have to be embarrassed, you know."

Harry made a face. ""

Draco snorted. "You'd lose that bet, then, Potter. I cried. Over all three letters. My eyes were so red and puffy I had to use a Glamour Charm at supper with my parents. Not that they'd have noticed anyway..."

Before he could think to stop himself, Harry reached out a hand and touched Draco's arm. ""

Draco gave him a mild smirk. "Don't think I don't know that you're trying to change the topic. But yeah. The atmosphere hasn't changed much," he said, trying to be nonchalant about it, but Harry could see the hurt in his eyes.

Harry's fingers, without his conscious permission, petted Draco's arm comfortingly.

Searching eyes met Harry's face and without any trace of former awkwardness at all, both young men simply stared at each other. Not as a contest of wills or anything like it would have been two years ago, just a simple holding of gazes, searching and finding someone who _understood_.

At last.

*****

Three more days passed in a flurry of life-threatening excitement as Harry and Draco broke through the curses and hexes in the dining room. They had escaped relatively unhurt, aside from a few minor cuts and punctures, easily fixed by healing charms. Draco's idea to simply Apparate out of the room as the cutlery attacked saved them from anything worse and it turned out that once the silverware had embedded itself into the doors and walls, it stayed there long enough for them to hit it with a series of counter-curses.

The dustcovers took a bit longer, although they were far less dangerous. Draco had nearly laughed himself silly at the sight of Harry trussed up like a mummy, only his head sticking out, before he'd freed him. Eventually they ended up simply Incendio-ing the aggressive fabric. Once that was done the ashes were no problem at all to Banish and the dining room seemed to have no further attacks to throw at them.

They celebrated by eating supper there that night, but despite Kreacher's fantastic feast the formal room still held an ominous air and it wasn't a terribly enjoyable meal. Harry suspected it just needed some good cleaning charms and sunlight and made a mental note to ask Mrs. Weasley about it the next time he saw her.

Continuing their celebration, Harry and Draco adjourned to the drawing room for a game of chess. As usual, Draco Summoned the scotch and two glasses. Their high spirits and residual adrenaline made them giddy quite quickly even without the liquor, and they ended up abandoning the game in favor of lounging on the sofa.

Sitting turned into teasing and laughing and shoving, and soon they were both seated at opposite ends, with their legs tangled across the middle cushion. Eventually Harry realized he was wriggling his sock-clad toes between Draco's thighs, and that such actions might count more as playing footsie than as tickling. To an outside observer.

A perverse one.

He blushed and withdrew his feet, making Draco laugh even harder.

"That was brilliant, Harry. I could practically _see_ the moment you realized how close your feet were to my bits," he gasped.

Harry scowled and gave Draco two fingers, trying not to smile.

With a decidedly evil grin, Draco slid one of his own feet up Harry's inseam. The twinkle in his eyes indicated that he had a fair idea what sort of effect this was having on Harry's cock – a rather, er, _expansive_ one.

Shifting awkwardly, Harry tried not to flush, although with the alcohol already in his system he knew his face was likely to be quite red, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

"You're as jumpy as a schoolgirl. Have you really not done _anything_ with a boy?" Draco teased. He made a scolding sound when Harry shook his head no. "I guess Gryffindors really aren't very brave after all, are they?"

Harry made a face and gave Draco a shove.

Rather than retaliate, Draco grinned again. "I dare you to kiss me."

Harry blinked. He took a breath in, then out, then shook his head a bit to make sure he was awake and not hallucinating.

Draco licked his lips. "What, not man enough for it?"

Knowing he would freak out if he thought about it for even a second, Harry went with his instincts: after all, they'd saved him from many life-or-death situations before. He lunged forward, grabbed Draco by the back of the neck, and slammed their mouths together.

Draco made a startled noise and Harry sat back immediately, hoping he hadn't split Draco's lip or – far worse - misread the dare entirely. Maybe he wasn't supposed to have acted on it. Maybe Draco was just teasing. Maybe he'd just been taking the piss all this time and --

"Potter!" Draco said, grabbing Harry by the chin and forcing him to open his eyes again. "Breathe, man."

Once Harry had obeyed, Draco's worried-forehead wrinkle smoothed out. He smiled a little as, hand still on Harry's face, he guided their mouths closer again. "Just slow down and enjoy it, all right?"

Harry might have moaned a bit in answer - or perhaps in response to the more gentle sensation of their lips pressing together, sweet and soft. He pulled back a bit, palms sweating as his body trembled, and realized he was practically lying on top of Draco.

Snogging him.

And that they were both already _very_ hard.

With a gasp, he lunged forward again, taking a bit more care this time, and the resulting kiss was Incendiary. Firm, moist pressure, assertive rather than softly yielding as Ginny's kisses had been. Draco's lips demanded instead of asking, taking what they wanted in the confidence that Harry wanted to give it.

And holy Morgana, he did.

Draco's hand tightened on Harry's jaw, pulling him closer as their kiss grew in hunger. His tongue gently but insistently probed until Harry opened to it, sliding in to explore with unhurried assurance. Flavors of liquor and supper mingled with their own natural tastes, as Draco's tongue stroked over his lips, teeth, and palate.

A deep moan tore through Harry's chest as he pressed his hips down into Draco's body, rubbing their groins together in a slow grind that made them both break off their endless snogging to gasp for breath. Insistent hands grabbed Harry's hips, pulling him back down when he would have moved off, afraid of getting too carried away.

He already _was_ too carried away.

Harry shivered, aroused beyond belief by the feeling of Draco underneath him, surrounded by the scent and taste of Draco, Draco everywhere. He tired to move back again, needing some space to get a grip on this mentally, but strong hands pulled him down as Draco writhed beneath him.

With a lurch, Harry pulled away, nearly falling off the sofa. He pushed Draco's legs to the side and sat down, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth open as he panted for air and tried not to panic. His hands gripped his knees, elbows locked, eyes fixed on the rug.

There was a heavy sigh from beside him. "Fuck, Harry. Couldn't you have freaked out _after_?"

Harry shrugged, still not looking at Draco. He wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid of seeing anger or frustration, or just because if he did look at Draco, Harry might have to attack him again and this time he might not stop.

Ever.

Groaning, he let his head falling into his hands, carding his fingers through his hair. Fuck. He'd utterly buggered everything up. He was a disaster, an emotional basket-case, and a bloody cock-tease on top of it all.

Not to mention he was still so hard his eyes were practically watering with the need to come.

"Merlin, Potter. You're a mess."

Harry nodded, pressing his palms against his face, digging into his glasses until they creaked warningly. He took a deep breath and reached for his wand.

""

Draco's face twisted in a familiar angry expression, but not quite angry enough to hide the hurt and confusion in his eyes. Harry wondered when he'd learned Malfoy's body language so well.

Rather than arguing, Draco surprised Harry by getting up, silently. His usual calm poise seemed to have vanished and he fumbled awkwardly with his shoes and cloak. His hair was mussed, his lips very red, and his entire face flushed. Harry tried not to notice the substantial tent distorting the black wool trousers.

He had absolutely no idea what to say, how to explain what he was feeling, how to apologize for his behavior. Harry felt overwhelmed, shaking with some emotion that felt simply too big to be expressed, too scary to be allowed. Kissing Draco had been phenomenal, unbelievable, and for some reason he felt like he was maybe going to cry or be sick or something. He felt like a complete heel asking Draco to leave but he didn't know what else to do.

One hand full of Floo powder, Draco hesitated on the hearth. He shot Harry a confused look, seemed about to say something, then just shook his head. In a small, quiet voice, he stated his destination and was gone.

Harry walked back over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, reaching for his glass of liquor and trying not to notice how warm the cushions were, how they smelled like Draco, or wonder if he'd just fucked up one of the best things in his life.


	6. Chapter 6

After a fitful night, Harry woke up with his hand down his pajama pants, slowly gliding up and down in a familiar rhythm. Tired of fighting with himself, he drifted gradually from dreams to fantasies, letting himself explore the new desires and urges he'd been repressing for over a month.

He pictured that long, lean, pale body he'd seen naked after the rainstorm Draco had been caught in. The elegant, casual nonchalance and total self-possession with which Draco carried himself. Harry imagined his fingertips trailing down silky skin and let the fantasy mingle with memories from last night of the feeling of Draco's body underneath him. Lean and firm and undeniably male, an insistent, unyielding erection pressing up against his.

How much feeling Draco's cock next to his own had turned him on, how much it had made Harry feel like he was going to lose control, and how afraid he was of what that might mean.

Redirecting his thoughts away from that path, Harry stroked himself faster and thought instead about the taste of Draco, the smell of his neck. Harry wanted to lick him, trail his tongue down that ivory neck, down his body. Even in his fantasy, Draco was teasing and challenging and Harry's only means of shutting up that obnoxious mouth was to shock him.

The Draco in his fantasy was obedient enough to be stunned into silence when Harry tasted his prick.

He'd never fantasized about giving a blowjob before – he'd never even received one himself. But he could guess what it tasted like and imagine how it might feel. His daydream quickly morphed into giving and receiving at the same time and memories of Draco's erotic moans from the night before added realism to the fantasy.

The idea of both sucking and being sucked, the feeling of a mouth on his cock, his mouth on Draco's cock, on _Draco_ , nearly made Harry's blood ignite. Shaking and shouting, he climaxed hard, coming all over his hand, chest, and the bedclothes. After a few minutes of harsh breathing – well, more like gasping like a racehorse – he opened his eyes.

And nearly fell on his face as he jumped out of the bed in surprise.

Kreacher stood before him, eyes screwed shut, hands twisting his ears in a familiar gesture of self-punishment.

Harry cleared his throat in a questioning tone.

"Kreacher could not help it," the elf apologized, eyes still closed as Harry self-consciously tried to wipe the goo off his hands. "The fire warnings rang, Summoning Kreacher. He would never intrude on Master in his private moments otherwise."

Trying not to utterly die of humiliation, Harry took a deep breath. Then he sniffed. The air _did_ smell a bit smoky. Grabbing his glasses he saw that indeed the bed hangings looked scorched.

 _Fuck_! Had he done that?

"Would Master like Kreacher to replace the bedding?" the elf asked, opening one eye just a sliver.

He nodded. The elf disappeared with a pop and Harry gathered his things to go hide in the shower while Kreacher cleaned up his mess.

What a way to start the morning he mused a few moments later, sticking a hand under the water to see if it was warm enough yet.

Still, not _all_ of it was bad, he thought with a grin.

*****

Harry spent the day puttering around the house and thinking about being gay - or bisexual, at least. What it might mean in terms of how people would treat him, both in the Wizarding world and the Muggle one. How his friends might react. If it really would be a lot more satisfying to date and have sex with a bloke; Merlin knew his experiences with women hadn't been so brilliant.

But maybe it was just Draco. There had always been an inexplicable level of intensity to their relationship, from the first moment they'd met. They set off sparks in each other, and although Harry was really _really_ enjoying this new kind of heat, he wondered how long it would last. Had Draco actually changed enough for them to get along if they were both conversing and sharing ideas?

He thought so, but he just wasn't sure.

Then again, there weren't any guarantees of how a relationship would work out, ever. He'd been attracted to Cho but had never really gotten to know her. He and Ginny had been decent friends but there was no spark and eventually the awkwardness of the distance _that_ caused had ruined their friendship. At least temporarily.

And really, why was he bothering to think all these girly thoughts about relationships and if it would last, anyway, when all he actually wanted was to grab Draco, snog him senseless, and take him upstairs to Harry's bedroom to finally lose his damned virginity?

For once sex was almost all Harry cared about, could really even _think_ about, and that felt more right than anything else "romantic" ever had.

Now all he had to do was apologize for freaking out the night before and hope Draco would forgive him for being such a twat.

Deciding to put his newfound correspondence skills to work, Harry wrote a letter. He apologized to Draco for sending him home without "talking" and assured him that he hadn't done anything wrong; it was just Harry's messed up head as usual, and that he'd been totally overwhelmed by how brilliant kissing Draco had felt. Feeling a bit naughty, Harry included some details about how much it had turned him on and that he'd wanked thinking about it this morning and had accidentally set his bed on fire.

He closed with a bald apology and a request for Draco to please forgive him and come back any time he wanted. Before he could change his mind, Harry tied the parchment to Glaucus' leg and sent him off into the cold evening air.

Unfortunately, Glaucus did not return until the next morning and there was no reply. The day seemed very long indeed as Harry paced back and forth, up and down the stairs, unsure of what to do with himself. What if Draco didn't forgive him? What if he had ruined everything?

Finally Tiberius arrived just as dusk turned into darkness, with a very short note.

Since there was no one around to hear him, Harry didn't feel too badly about breaking his Resolution with a loud shouted "Yes!" as he danced around the drawing room.

*****

Harry was much relieved to have made up with Draco and even more thrilled to have made _out_ with him a bit more. Well, it had been more like just a few lingering kisses; Draco seemed to be holding back and Harry couldn't exactly blame him after what had happened the first time. It was still bloody brilliant though.

That sorted and with more and more of the old Dark spells in the house unraveling as easily as knocking over dominoes, Harry decided to finish up his other project. His letters to his parents ended up being among the shortest ones he had written. When it came down to it there just wasn't that much to say; he hadn't _known_ them, for better or for worse. Which was depressing in its own right, but left him feeling somewhat at a loss about what to write.

His father's was especially difficult; he'd inherited his looks from him and supposedly his Quidditch talents also, but the only glimpse he'd really had of his father had been of an annoying teenager who was a bit of a bully. While Harry could sympathize with being a brat at fifteen, he really didn't know very much about James Potter as a person. He felt a bit more empathy for his mum, not just because of her sacrifice that had saved his life so many times, but also because of their similar upbringings. She was Muggle-born and would have understood what the transition from the non-magical world to the Wizarding one would have been like for Harry. He'd gotten to know her a bit through Snape's memories - but as a person rather than as a mother.

In the end, both letters ended up being goodbyes. Not to James and Lily exactly, but to the idea, the fantasy he'd harbored his entire childhood, of having parents. Harry was nearly nineteen years old, all grown up now, and it was time to let go of that dream. They were never coming back: not as ghosts, not as guides, not as _parents_.

Feeling numb and empty inside, restless but not quite sad, Harry spent the afternoon outdoors. He set out into London and let himself get lost. The slight struggle between the wind and his umbrella, the endless drizzle, and the early-February chill which didn't quite penetrate his clothes were welcome distractions. He returned back to Grimmauld Place that night, damp and chilled and exhausted. He took a small dose of Pepper-Up, drank some soup, and went to bed.

*****

The next morning Harry was woken by Pig fluttering around his bedroom and knocking things over. As expected he had a letter from Ron, apologizing for hexing Harry and for not believing him _and_ for having to let Hermione see his bits. Ron admitted he had been angrier than he'd let on about Harry breaking up with Ginny and felt like he'd been broken up with, too, now that Harry was spending so much time with Malfoy.

Harry saw Hermione's hand in Ron's letter – his friend would never have been so forthcoming about his own motivations by himself – but didn't value the words any less for that. The letter _was_ pretty pathetic and Harry was tired of fighting with Ron anyway. He sent Glaucus back with Pig, carrying an invitation to lunch.

Ron and Hermione arrived at noon and were suitably impressed when Harry showed them into the de-hexed dining room. Again, despite the decent food and company, the room still felt a bit chilled, more spiritually than literally. Hermione had a few suggestions but Harry decided to follow his instincts and Ron's urging and ask Mrs. Weasley to help. That would mean he could also clear the air with her, although he wasn't entirely certain what he was apologizing for, aside from the Ginny thing.

Unfortunately, the owl Harry sent to the Burrow with his request returned with a quickly-scribbled reply that Molly was simply too busy just now. It wasn't outright hostile but it was clear that she was still upset. Harry realized this was the first time Molly hadn't visited him at the hospital either and began to worry that things were really more wrong than he had been aware.

This unexpected source of strife made Harry's mood shift even further downward over the next few days. It wasn't _his_ fault that Ginny had wanted for him for so long. It wasn't his fault that he was maybe-sort-of-probably-most-likely queer. Or bisexual. Whatever. He liked Ginny, he even loved her - just more in a sisterly way than in a writhing-around-on-the-sofa way. It definitely wasn't his fault that the entire Weasley family had assumed they'd get married, have tons of red-headed children, and live happily ever after, as if Ginny were the princess in some fairytale.

Life just wasn't like that.

Harry's mood lightened a few days later when Fred and George visited, ostensibly for dinner, but more to tease Harry about being a poof.

"We heard you were a virgin..." George started.

"...and wanted to offer our services to help rid you of this terrible shame," Fred grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head no.

"Maybe he doesn't like redheads?" George suggested to his twin.

"Mmm, could be, Georgie, could be. I hear he's got a penchant for ferrety blond arseholes," Fred suggested.

George made a very sad face. "Such a shame, that is. I suppose we could use Glamour charms..."

"," Harry wrote, trying not to smile.

Fred pretended to collapse onto a chair in a shocked faint, one hand pressed to his heart. "You wound us, Harry."

"He's going to turn the whole family against him if he goes on like this," George said with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Yeah, Mum's still pretty narked at you about breaking it off with Ginny and about finding Malfoy here that morning," Fred added, turning serious.

Harry sighed. "," he wrote. Which was sort of true; he hadn't done anything with Draco at that point, anyway.

""

"Yeah, we know," George said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Ginny's been obsessed with you forever. She's just having a rough time and of course everyone's got to be on her side, you know? She's our little sister."

Fred nodded. "Yeah. We know you didn't hurt her on purpose and no one's really upset with you or anything. Mum will come around eventually, too."

Harry nodded, grateful to have the twins' reassurance. He counted on the Weasley family to be there for him and it was a relief to know that the estrangement was likely to be temporary.

Despite the reassurance from Fred and George (and the flirting that followed), Harry still felt as bleak and gloomy inside as the weather was outside when they had left. The combined tension of the last few weeks had finally taken its toll: his fight with Ron, the hounding by the Press and outside world, his massive fuck-up with Draco, and semi-estrangement from the Weasley family. All of it, combined with finishing writing his letters to the dead, left Harry as depressed as he could ever remember being.

It was a strange, new shade of the feeling too, one not colored by frustration or anger or hurt. It was just grief, pure and undiluted.

Not only had he lost so many people he'd loved or looked up to, but he'd lost other things as well. His last dregs of childish innocence. His dreams of becoming an Auror and being a semi-normal part of the Wizarding world. His fantasy of marrying Ginny and having a family of his own. His future. And his hopes.

*****

Harry was sitting in the drawing room, watching raindrops slide down the windowpane when he heard the Floo flare to life in the kitchen. The wards chimed announcing his visitor and somehow he knew it was Draco.

When Harry proved non-responsive to Draco's verbal poking, he suggested a game of chess or senet. Harry agreed to senet but when Draco Summoned the liquor he shook his head no.

Draco shrugged. "You're probably right. We've been drinking rather a lot lately."

Harry nodded, fiddling with one of his game pieces.

They played in silence for a bit, Draco utterly wiping the board with him. After quickly beating Harry four games in a row, Draco shoved the board aside in irritation.

"What is up with you?" he demanded. "What's happened?"

Harry sighed and waved his wand at the blackboard. "."

"Then why are you so down?"

He shrugged. ""

 

Draco nodded. He pursed his lips, looking at Harry and obviously thinking hard. "So what are you going to do with them?"

"," Harry answered, taking a moment to consider.

""

"No, that'd be a bit creepy," Draco agreed. "Well, when do you want to do it? Now?"

Harry looked at him in surprise, then furrowed his brow, shaking his head.  
""

"Tomorrow?" Draco urged.

"" Harry asked, feeling a little angry for reasons he couldn't identify.

"Because you're finished and now you're just sitting here moping. You've done most of the work but you still have to take the final step and let go. You're the one who decided to burn them; I just want to see you do it."

""

"I didn't mean literally. But I'll come over if you want me to," Draco amended.

Harry picked up another senet piece and rolled it around his fingers.  
""

Draco nodded, looking uncomfortable.

"," Harry added.

With a pleased expression at being the one Harry wanted, Draco agreed. They settled on tomorrow, early in the evening. That would give Harry all day to actually burn the letters and do whatever wallowing he needed, and then he would have some company at nightfall before he got too maudlin.

*****

Harry woke up feeling like he had on the morning of every big Quidditch match in foul weather: like something awful was going to happen but he had no power to stop it and just had to see it through. He knew he was being melodramatic but that knowledge did nothing to lighten the weight in his chest.

After wasting most of the day he built a fire in the grate in the drawing room and gathered all of his letters together. Sitting on a cushion, he waited for the fire to get going and then slowly started feeding them in, one by one. For each person he unsealed the scroll, read the letter aloud in a husky whisper, sealed it back up, and gently tossed it into the flames. He watched each parchment burn and disintegrate fully, scattering the ashes with a poker before repeating the process with the next letter.

Harry had no idea how much time had passed when he noticed Draco walk into the room. He was still sitting by the hearth, poking at the ashes, hands covered with soot. His head ached and his chest hurt but he still felt lighter somehow. Unbending arms and legs that had stiffened from the lack of circulation, he stood up, taking Draco's assisting hand gratefully.

Draco seemed a little out of focus, as if he was underwater, and it took Harry a few moments before he figured out that was because he must have been crying. Too emotionally raw to be embarrassed, he was drawn into a somewhat awkward embrace that was no less comforting for its self-consciousness. Cool hands stroked his back and Harry buried his face in the side of Draco's neck, breathing in his scent and warmth.

He sniffled a bit and wiped his face on Draco's shoulder, then pulled away to make eye contact. The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a slight smile before he tugged Harry back for a gentle kiss. Tingles swept through Harry's body, waking him up and lifting him out of the fog he'd been in all afternoon. He felt relaxed, safe, loved, and _alive_.

Hands tightening on Draco's shoulders, Harry deepened their kiss as comfort morphed into desire. He opened his mouth, feeling Draco respond in kind as their tongues met and tangled. It was intimate and hot and wet and Harry's entire body thrummed with life, with desire. A soft moan vibrated through his chest as Draco pulled back slightly and caught Harry's lower lip between his own.

He wanted this, wanted _Draco_ , so much.

Which was why he was a bit dismayed when Draco pushed him back and held him at arm's length, searching his face. "Are you really all right?" he asked.

Harry nodded emphatically, reaching out again, but the blond's longer arms held him in place.

"Are you sure?"

Harry smiled a bit as he rolled his eyes and nodded. Draco released his grip and Harry slid his hands down Draco's arms, feeling the shape of them through his jumper before clasping their hands together. With a slight tug, he gestured Draco towards the door and purposefully led him into the hall, up the stairs, and to his bedroom.

Draco still looked a bit wary but Harry needed this, wanted it, and didn't want to wait any longer. Finally Draco seemed to understand that Harry meant it and that he wasn't going to back down. Urgent hands pulled Harry closer and began to tug at his clothing as they traded feverish kisses.

The backs of Harry's knees hit the bed before he realized that Draco had been steadily walking them towards it. His graceless stumble was ignored as Draco fell on top of him, their mostly-naked bodies coming into full contact for the first time. Harry's needy whimper was echoed by Draco and they both indulged themselves in the sensation of skin against skin, arms and legs tangled, chests, bellies, and groins pressed together.

It was the most amazing sensation Harry had ever felt, _ever_ , and he wanted more.

At Draco's prompting, they both fumbled for a moment to remove socks, then underwear. Harry tried not to be too self-conscious, cringing just a bit as Draco looked at him. Luckily he was distracted by the recognition that now he could look at Draco openly, admiring the clean lines of his youthful body.

The moment for looking at each other ended when Draco made a sound that could only be classified as a growl or a purr or something animalistic as he pounced on Harry.

And then they were touching, Harry's slightly-rough and clammy hands reveling in the texture of smooth skin, while Draco's cool, long fingers stroked over his own body, leaving him dizzy and breathless, even before Draco's hands began to slide purposefully down his stomach.

Harry might have whimpered a bit as light fingertips stroked down the length of his throbbing cock but Draco didn't seem to mind. His hips gave a lurch upward and Draco responded by curling his fingers around Harry's length, making him gasp as overwhelming pleasure shot through his veins. He tried to shout out a warning but his words were a garbled mass of nonsense. His body shook with a climax of epic propositions as ecstasy tore through him, terrifying and amazing at the same time. Harry shouted, drenching his stomach and Draco's hand with wetness.

A short eternity later and Harry could breathe like a relatively normal person again. He opened his eyes to see Draco looking very smug. He also had a predatory look in his eyes and, as Harry looked lower, was still very hard. He smiled apologetically and shifted, kissing Draco as he pushed him back into the bedding.

Calling upon a bit of Gryffindor courage, Harry slid his hands down Draco's chest, enjoying the play of muscles. He wanted to linger and hoped he'd have a chance to explore more later, but he knew what he wanted to do right now.

With one hand wrapped around the curve of Draco's hip and the other smoothly sliding between his legs, Harry bent down and pressed his tongue to the length of Draco's shaft. When his actions resulted in the most erotic sound Harry had heard Draco make yet, he gripped the base firmly and took the stiff flesh into his mouth before he had a chance to panic about it.

It was warm and salty and tasted about as Harry had expected a cock to taste. He tried to be careful of his teeth as he swirled his tongue around, tasting and feeling what he could. His other hand took care of the bottom part, moving back and forth as he tried to coordinate his movements. If Draco's sounds - the moans and swearing and pleas to various deities - and the hands clenching on Harry's shoulders were anything to go by, he was doing an acceptable job of it.

Just around the time his jaw started to get tired, Draco made a broken sort of noise and pushed half-heartedly at his head. Harry felt Draco's entire body quake and shudder as his back bowed and he released a blissful cry as he came. Amazed, Harry watched as Draco collapsed into the mattress, his features relaxing as an expression of delight suffused them.

His kissed Draco's cheek, then rummaged around on the floor, finding his discarded t-shirt and wiping up the mess from them both as best he could. He couldn't keep the slightly goofy grin off his face as he took a moment to find his glasses so that he could confirm that no, the bed hangings had _not_ once again spontaneously caught on fire.

Unfortunately, Draco seemed to take Harry's actions entirely the wrong way. He sat up and started to swing his legs out of the bed, already reaching for his clothes. "I guess I should be going," he said in a voice too neutral to be genuine.

Harry put a hand on Draco's chest to hold him back, giving him a puzzled look. Why was he leaving? Did he think Harry wanted him to go? Just because he'd put his glasses back on and fumbled with his clothes and cleaned them up... Well yeah, that made sense actually.

He sighed at himself for being an idiot yet again. He wasn't going to fuck things up this time, though. Harry took a deep breath, making a decision, and gave Draco a serious look.

"Please, Draco. Stay."

Draco blinked in surprise. He took a deep breath of his own, considering, then nodded his head slightly. "Yeah, all right. I will."

Harry reached out and took Draco's hand, shifting them both back into the bed as he brought their lips together in a soft kiss. There would be plenty of time for words later.

~end~


End file.
